Living to Tell the Tale
by SplittingImage4
Summary: (DMTNT spoilers!) "Smyth is quite an unusual name. Did we not know once someone called Smyth?" After the loss of his former first mate, Captain Jack reminisces with an old friend about Margaret Smyth and Hector Barbossa. How they met. The adventures they had. How Carina Smyth was born and orphaned. And a secret the four share that they'll take to the grave.
1. Remember When

**A/N The intro immediately follows the events of DMTNT-Here there be spoilers! My attempt at a back story for Carina's mother, for whom we only get a name. This is my first fic in a long time, please enjoy :)**

 **PART I**

"Thought I might find you here."

Rita May stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of the familiarly slurred words. Her cloak had been drawn so heavily around her, it was a miracle anyone in the tavern could recognize her. Let alone the man at the dimly lit table in the corner, whom even she had passed by without a second glance. Cursing herself for not exiting faster, she slowly turned to face someone she thought she'd never see again.

"Did you?" She said quietly. "Must be your lucky night, I rarely come to this side of the island anymore."

"Ah, well," The man flashed her a grin. His gold teeth glinted in the candle light. "Luck, instinct, knowing who to ask. All the same, really."

Rita's face fell into a scowl. She had few friends in Tortuga these days, but she hadn't anticipated any would betray her whereabouts so freely. Though it had been some time since anyone was actively searching for her, she was done living life on the edge, and had been bending over backwards to burn all bridges and cover her tracks.

"S'ppose that's for me, then?" She gestured to the second pint on the table.

"Oh, that…of-of course it is!" The man couldn't quite hide his disappointment as he slid the pint over to her. "A man doesn't show up unexpectedly unless he plans to buy the rounds."

Rita smiled as she sat, tipping the drink towards him courteously before taking a sip.

"Why are you here, Jack?" She said.

Jack took a long gulp from his own mug, as if he hadn't heard her.

"Y'know, one does hear things," He said, wiping the foam from his moustache. "You're about as wanted as any of us these days."

"Thanks?"

"Guess you couldn't manage to keep out of trouble, after all. I mean, bounty hunting? Rather un-ladylike," He smirked.

Rita bit down the urge to smack him, and instead leaned closer.

"Keep your damn voice down, would you? Those days are behind me."

"And yet you're still hiding."

She looked at him. His eyes were glazed from the probable hours he'd spent already drinking, but she could almost detect true concern. Trying to lighten the mood, she sighed and chuckled.

"You know as well as I do the past never stays buried. You're living proof of that. Why are you here?"

Again, Jack pretended not to hear.

"Not much work for a woman sailor, is there? Or, honest work, at least. But last I saw of you, you and Margaret Smyth about had about conquered the trade of...shall we call it 'covert exports'?"

Smyth. It was name she hadn't heard in years, and the shock of hearing it again made Rita choke on her rum. Swallowing hard, she kept her composure.

"I…Right, well, things change. She's gone, now. I couldn't much carry on the business without her," She mumbled. "And you _need_ to lower your voice, drunkard."

"You're among thieves and pirates, love, we're in good company," Jack said. He took another sip and a sigh. "I was sorry to hear about Margaret. I always liked her."

"Mm. Me too."

"As it so happens," Jack cleared his throat, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. "That's sort of…a bit why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"Barbossa's dead."

"Oh."

It was as if a cold air circled around their tiny table. The face of the old sea captain flashed across Rita's mind along with dozens of memories, both fond and painful. What's more, she knew this news meant it was just them, now. They were the only two people remaining on Earth who knew where it was hidden.

"Wanted to tell you in person," Jack explained, burying his face in his pint once more. He didn't need to say it, but the true reason he came was clear. Yet neither one would dare be the first to mention the treasure.

"Always liked him."

"Aye. Me too."

Silence. More drinking. More silence. Jack suddenly broke it with a laugh that startled Rita's contemplation.

"Do you remember?"

"Possibly. Remember what, exactly?"

"You know. How we all met?"

She was taken aback. Here he was, after years apart, trying to have an honest, friendly conversation. After considering the question, Rita rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile.

"Hardly," she admitted. "I was so young. I was only-"

"Sixteen, and had just stolen her first boat," Jack finished. "And probably the proudest kid I'd ever met."

"You're one to speak of pride. Captain Sparrow, the youngest, daring-est, most frightful pirate in the seven seas. You were infamous."

"What, am I not still to this day?" He gave a playful toss of his hat that had been hanging on his chair. Jack smiled at her and leaned back in his chair. He had a faraway look as he gazed into the flame of the candle. Rita mimicked his stare, lost in nostalgia.

"I remember."

* * *

 **YEARS AND YEARS AGO**

A bright morning. It was almost too bright, and the moment Rita emerged from the dark shack, she was squinting furiously. The dirt road was already bustling with carts on their way to the market, the smell of fish and donkey combining disgustingly in the air. At least she could see the ocean from the hovel they now called a home, but often the small town seemed too foul even for her liking.

"I feel absolutely ridiculous," came a voice from within.

"Come on, the sooner we get this over with the better," Rita held her hand up above her eyes as a shield face as she scanned the horizon. Nothing but fishing boats littered the harbor. "All Royal soldiers headed back to their ships at the crack of dawn, so coast is clear."

"Poor things had to hurry back to their wives," The voice joked. "Rita, get in here I can't get this cursed thing over me head."

She obliged with a dramatic sigh and re-entered the shack. There stood Margaret Smyth in front of a cracked mirror, halfway buried in a lacey dress, the top of her head just poking out.

"Don't say a word."

Stifling her giggling, Rita came to the rescue. She tugged at the bottom of the dress until Margret could slide her arms through. They stood back to admire their work in the mirror, both of them now in fine day gowns that screamed nobility. The young women looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"They're hideous," Margaret exclaimed. "And look at you! I can't bear to see you in a corset."

"Feeling protective, are we? Afraid a lad from the British Navy will sweep me off my feet?" Rita said playfully.

"A fate too horrible for me to think of. You're like a baby sister to me, y'know."

"Then why is it I'm always the one taking care of you?"

"I said you were littler than me, not that you weren't smarter."

The two smiled. After one last look at their façade, they turned to the two sacks in the corner by the bed.

"Right, then. Let's get started," Margaret set off to work.

The first sack contained a variety of round fruits ranging from pomegranates, grapefruit, apples, and oranges. Their only oddity was that the night before they had all been slice into halves, with their centers hollowed out.

The second, pouches of ground tobacco leaves.

The two women worked quickly, Rita pouring a pouch into a fruit half, and Margaret sealing them and packing them in a picnic basket. When the operation was complete, they hid the sacks under the mattress on the other side of the one-room home.

"He said he'd meet us at Sundown on the North side of Kingshead," Margaret said, pulling out a dusty parasol from the dresser. "With the payment."

"We need to stop taking any deal that isn't 'pay first'," Rita said, hitching a pistol to her garter holster. "If we're cheated again, I swear…"

"That's the game, Rita. And he's coming alone. I'll handle him if he doesn't behave. Just worry about getting the boat ready," Margaret replied.

Rita walked out into the road once more and headed down to the docks, a mere skip and a hop from their front door. Her long dress swept the dirt at her feet, a feature she never understood about modern day fashion. When she reached the steps of the dock, the Portsman greeted her with a tip of his hat. She nodded and smiled in return. She and Margaret had resided on the island for a week, but hadn't dared tried to get to know any of the locals. It was lucky everyone else there had a similar lack of affinity for strangers, because everyone cordially kept to themselves.

Rita only made it a few feet along the dock before she stopped short.

"My…my boat!" She looked at where her dinghy had been tied up just the day before, and the hunk of wood and debris that now floated there instead. "What the hell happened to my boat?"

The Portsman came over to examine the scene.

"Aye, I remember. Last night when the Royal Navy was 'ere. They came from their ships already drunk, one of 'em musta crashed right in."

"What am I supposed to do now?" Rita's spat. Her heart pounded in anger.

"I'm sure we can getcha another ride out to your ship, Miss."

"This _is_ my ship," She muttered.

"Oh. Really? Can't even go out on the open ocean with that thing," The Portsman scratched his head.

"I know! I don't! …I keep to the bays."

"Not keepin' to anything now, it looks like."

"Shut up, you!"

The Portsman shrugged and headed off towards the other end of the dock. Breathing heavily, Rita assessed her options. It was early enough that the docks weren't crowded. There were a number of small sailships tied up along the way. One in particular caught her eye, with polished wood and a mast that didn't sway as easily as the others in the ocean breeze. Looking around cautiously, she moved over to the boat and peered in. It had everything, rope, maps, filled satchels, and…

"Ack!"

A sleeping boy. Not sleeping any more, however, the boy leapt to his feet, startled at the sight of a strange woman leering at his boat.

"What-what do you want?" He said, steadying himself inside the vessel.

"Oh, pardon me, sir!" Rita said, thinking on her feet. "I was just…well, looking for a sailor, in fact."

"What for, miss?" The boy began to look suspicious.

Rita took out a fan from her sleeve and flipped it in front of her face.

"Oh, you see…well, it's embarrassing, really," She added a giggle for good measure. "My friend and I, we came in early this morning to visit the market. And wouldn't you know it, our dinghy hit some rocks on the way over. I didn't notice until now, but the thing is practically sunk!"

She gestured to the remains of her boat on the other side of the dock. It did look truly pitiful. Just then, Margret appeared carrying the basket. She gave Rita a confused look before approaching her and the boy.

"Darling," Rita said before she could open her mouth. "It would seem we'll have to find another way back to the ship."

"Oh," Margaret immediately put on a pout. "Oh, dear. What a frightful morning this has been."

"You two don't look like you're from around here," The boy said, not letting his guard down. "This is no place for lasses like yourselves to be spending much time. Least without an escort."

"No, I quite agree!" Margaret gave Rita a light swat on the shoulder. "I told you we should have asked the men to accompany us."

"We so rarely get unsupervised time on our hands," Rita said to the boy with a wink. "Running errands is how we escape."

"And now they're waiting for us!"

"I know, I know. Sir," She looked as desperate as she could. "You're the only sailor I could find, and we're in rather a hurry. Could you please take us out to our ship?"

"I don't see any ships out there…"

"Behind those big rocks. They did anchor far away, the sillies," Margaret shook her head.

The boy looked torn.

"I…I don't know, misses. My master will be back in a few hours, and I'm to stay here with the boat."

"A few hours? You'll be back and forth in a jiffy, no problem at all!" Margaret moved closer to the boy. Rita noticed she arched her back, causing her already pushed-up chest to protrude even more. "Please? You'd be our hero."

The boy took one last nervous glance at the mainland, then back at the two girls. Then, he stood aside and held out his hand to help them aboard.

"Thank you!" They exclaimed. Margaret even blessed him with a kiss on the cheek.

In a moment, they were off. Rita had missed being on the water, and in a boat that could take on real waves. She and Margret had been rowing their way through their transactions for the past month, which hadn't been good both for business and their arms.

"What ye get from the market?" The boy suddenly asked, pointing to the basket.

"Oh, just plenty of fruit," Margaret said.

"Would you like one?" Rita asked, much to the chagrin of her friend. Her daredevil behavior often was the cause of quarrels between them.

"No, thank you, miss. You better save that for your hungry fellows," The boy said.

"Suit yourself," Rita said, fanning herself delicately. Margaret shot her a mutinous look.

Rita only tempted the fates in good measure. It was part of her job to be honest and natural so that the lies would be more easily believed. This was a trick her friend was not at all fond of, but they hadn't been hung yet.

Soon, they were approaching the rocks behind which their "ship" was to lie. The girls looked at one another.

"We really can't thank you enough, sir," Margaret said genuinely.

"You've been awfully kind," Rita agreed.

"Sure, ladies. Now, your ship should be coming round the corner in just a-"

In the moment he'd looked away, both women had cocked their pistols and aimed them at the boy's head. He froze. Rita thought he rather looked like a puffer fish, the way his mouth hung agape.

"You can swim, can't you?" Margaret asked as though she was making polite conversation. The boy nodded.

"Great! I'd start now, then."

"I can't let you take-"

BANG! A bullet erupted from Margaret's pistol and landed cleanly in the water just outside the boat.

"That warning was my thank-you gift," She said coldly. "Now I don't owe you anything. And we never miss a shot."

Without another argument, the boy dove off the side and began swimming at full speed back towards the island.

"What a nice young man," Margaret said, sitting down and twirling her pistol. "You remember how to sail, Rita?"

Rita smirked. She was already retying the boy's poorly crafted knots.

"I'll head behind the rocks for some cover. Someone might have heard the gun," She said.

"Not likely, we're at least a mile off the mainland, and got about an hour before the boy reaches shore," Margaret was already pillaging what the boy had left aboard. "This feels nice. We deserve a real boat. You did good."

"Nah, I only got him warmed up for you," Rita smiled.

"Please, you're possessed with grace. I don't have years of propriety training like you do."

It annoyed Rita to be reminded, even slightly, of the life she'd had to leave behind. Both she and Margaret had been born in England, but whereas Margaret was a stowaway crossing over, Rita had had a family. A well-to-do family, with whom she'd had nothing in common. When she was eight, her parents were imprisoned. Abandoned and mistreated by the relatives that took her in, she was soon swept into the rewarding life of crime.

"I did miss sailing," She sighed against the tiny wheel that made her think of larger, grander ships.

"Admittedly, the dinghy was better for the 'two girls on a picnic' bit. But we'll manage."

"Thank you." Rita said suddenly.

"What for?"

"For going along with my plan. We just…I mean, we just stole a boat."

Margaret laughed and Rita felt her cheeks grow hot. She'd never done anything like this before, and it seemed momentous. Of course to her friend, with thievery in her blood, it would be second nature.

"We're not exactly in the most lawful of trades as it is. Did you think I was going to scold you?" Margaret teased.

Rita allowed herself to laugh at this. Glancing at the map Margret and rolled out, she steered the boat back on course.

"We got everything, then?" She said.

"It's all here."

"Right, then. Bring me that horizon."

"Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum."


	2. Hunted

They sailed on for hours, giving Margaret and Rita plenty of time to rifle through the effects of whoever had owned the boat prior. The two so rarely had luxuries of any kind that even the few gold coins and gems they rounded up were greeted with squeals of delight. It certainly wasn't enough riches to buy them more than a decent meal and room at an inn, but Rita could see why the boy had been so reluctant to let them sail away. Rita had just discovered an ornate spyglass, while Margaret was toying with a small dagger. She extended the trinket as far as it could go and peered through. Nothing but darkness could be seen through the small hole.

"Damn thing doesn't even work," She muttered, tossing it in one of the satchels.

She had gone back to digging through the bags, when Margaret tugged gently on her sleeve.

"I don't think you need a 'scope to see that we're in trouble."

Rita looked up. Sure enough, off the stern there was the unmistakable shape of a ship on their tail. It was too far off to see what colors it was waving, but there was no denying it was coming in their direction.

"Please turn, please turn you stupid hunk of wood," Rita whispered.

"Look, we're not far from Kingshead. If we can make it there, we'll have the protection of Mr. Killington and-"Margaret's suddenly eyes widened as she cut off. "Oh, bloody, scummy, hell."

Rita whipped around to follow her stare. There in front of them, coming around the corner of a set of jagged rocks, was yet another large ship. This one was much closer than the one behind them, but unfortunately also headed right towards them. Rita couldn't believe their bad luck.

"We're trapped!" She blurted out, despite their predicament being fairly obvious.

"We're not," Margaret said firmly. "Worst case scenario, they're headed for each other and we escape the crossfire. If they get close enough to ask questions, we do what we always do. Play the parts."

Rita was not convinced that it was an entirely good plan. For one, often if they ran into anyone on their trips they were seen in an innocent rowboat, and close enough to the shore for a quick escape. Now they were in a stolen vessel, looking very out of place in their fancy gowns, and she was beginning to rethink every move she'd made in the last few hours. The ship behind them was still a mere speck, but the one that lay ahead was getting larger with each passing second. It was impossibly fast for a frigate, and unlike any she'd ever seen. The sails were not the usual cream color, but instead a dark obsidian. Rita was becoming more and more certain that the greater of the two evils was going to reach them first.

"Pirates," Margaret murmured. "Quick, tie everything you can to the underside of your dress."

The two worked swiftly to get as many satchels with as many goods as they could strapped around their legs and to exposed rings on their hoop skirts. Only light things would hold up, though, so much of the jewels remained in sacks on the floor of the boat.

"At least if they rob us, we'll have something to give 'em," Rita said. "Lead 'em off the scent of the goods."

"Well, they better do it quickly, that other ship is catching up," Margaret finished fastening the last of their belongings. The basket was too big to fit under their skirts, but it was disguised innocuously enough to leave in the open.

All that was left to do was wait. Rita and Margaret assumed their positions; two ladies out for a quick sail, parasols and fans poised to perfection. As Rita predicted, the black sailed beast pulled up alongside them first. They were far too close for comfort, but they were granted the mercy of not being torn to shreds by the immense bow. One by one, faces began to appear over the ship's rail, staring down at them as though they were a couple of mermaids. Rita had never seen so many scarred, battered faces in all her life. She'd seen pirates before, of course, but only on land and usually in a tavern with a few drinks to soften them. These men looked like they'd run her through without a second thought.

As they moved past the ship, careful not to hold eye contact with any of the crew, Rita had a sudden burst of hope that they _were_ going to make it past after all. This dream was instantly shattered by a grappling hook that shot into the front of their boat from up above. Another came a second later, puncturing a hole in the bottom but succeeding in latching on.

"Do you, MIND?" Margaret shouted at the faces up above. Their sneers turned to sniggers. Another figure appeared, pushing the others out of the way.

"Back to work, scurvy urchins, I'll be takin' it from here." The man bore a bronze colored beard with flecks of gray starting to weave their way in. He was clearly of higher rank than the others, and certainly better dressed with a feathered hat and navy blue jacket. He looked down at the women with an odd mixture of a scowl and a grin.

"G'morning, ladies. That's a fine looking boat you got there," He said, his voice like gravel.

"Thank-you…" Rita thought it best to go the polite and dainty route, but Margaret had other ideas.

"It _was_ a fine boat, 'til you shot your damn hooks in it! Do we look like fish to you?" She yelled up at the man. He simply laughed.

"Are ye going for a joyride, then? Seems a lot to bring a bag o' gems along with ye," He gestured to the sack that had spilled in the attack.

"Mum always said it was better to keep them by your side than in a vault," Margret shrugged.

"Did she, now."

There was a moment of silence, where the man and Margaret stared each other down. Eventually, he laughed again, clearly amused by her ferocity.

"Well, consider this a good life lesson! I think we'll take those off your hands, so ye know exactly where they be." He pulled out his own pistol and aimed it down at them. He didn't have to, the girls knew enough not to take on an entire pirate crew by themselves.

Rita refilled the bag with the gems and sealed it tightly.

"Here," She shouted up. "I'll throw it to you. And then we'll really have to be on our way."

"Lots of people waiting for us, you see," Margaret added.

It was Rita's turn to give Margaret an angry look. She wasn't thinking, and her simple slip of the tongue could have just cost them everything. It was a second later that she realized her mistake.

"I mean, we just…"

But the damage was done. With a sly smile, the man gave a gesture to a crewman behind him. Rita felt the boat suddenly begin to lift out of the water. It was larger than any dinghy, and yet the massive ship hardly creaked as they were pulled up onto its side.

"Oh, now, it wouldn't be very good manners o' me to leave ye with a damaged boat. Why don't ye come aboard, meet the lads...stay a while.

When their boat had been pulled up far enough, two pairs of large hands reached in and dragged the women up and onto the deck. Once they'd touched down, they bound their hands behind their backs and their captors held them steady. The crew was even more repulsive up close, and each of them had a hungry look in their eye as they edged closer towards Margaret and Rita. The man who had ordered their capture stepped forward.

"Bo'sun," He said aside to a tall scarred man. "Search the boat." With a grunt, he obliged, leaping into their helpless swinging vessel and throwing up the picnic basket and the gems.

"Quite the unusual assortment for a day out," the bearded man said. He kicked open the basket, revealing the fruit. "Mm. Apples. My favorite."

He picked one up. It was an inch from his mouth when Rita knew she couldn't keep quiet.

"You have what you want, let us go!"

"And miss the chance to return to fine young ladies home to their families? I know noblewomen when I see 'em, and I know a hefty ransom deal by the cut of her gown. Take 'em to the brig, gents."

The deck erupted in pleas from Margaret and Rita, and shouts of triumph from the men. Just when doom seemed certain, another voice cut across the chaos.

"Mister Barbossa, what do you think you're doing?"

It was a younger man, though he commanded a similar kind of respect. Rita could tell all at once just from his heavy eyeliner and swagger that he was vain, drunk, and in charge. He emerged fully from what must have been the captain's quarters, and surveyed the situation.

"I close my eyes for two seconds, and suddenly you've gone witch hunting. Are we even in Tortuga yet?" He ambled through the crowd, trying to look down on the crew despite being a head shorter than most.

"Just a few miles out now, _Cap'n_ ," Barbossa growled. "And ye've been asleep for four hours now."

"Nothing wrong with taking a nap now and then!" He said unashamedly. "How else do you think I keep this beautiful? You, my friend, could really use a year's worth of sleep…"

In the midst of the conversation, Rita and Margaret had begun attempting to untie one another's bonds. Unfortunately the large one, called Bo'sun, spotted this and smacked Rita.

"Don't you touch her!" Margaret roared, aiming a kick at him.

"Hey, now, what's all this?" The young Captain sauntered forward towards the two women. "What are you doing on me ship?"

"We're taking 'em hostage," Barbossa explained proudly. "I'm sure we'll receive a grand payment from whatever officer or noblemen they belong to. And the pair even came with plenty of gems up front." He and the men cackled again.

"Waste of time! Throw them off. Keep the jewels, and whatever parts you can salvage from the boat," The captain said with an airy wave of his hand. Barbossa's jaw clenched.

"Jack," He said in a low voice. "These men have been followin' ye to the ends of the earth for too long with little pay off. They need to see we're making it worth their while."

"They will be paid ten times the worth of two women once we reach it."

Barbossa leaned in closer and opened his mouth to argue, but before he could the captain plucked the apple from his hands and took a bite.

"Mm, haven't had one of these in ages," He chewed deeply for a moment, then spat it all out on the floor. Cautiously, he approached the basket next to Rita and Margret, and gave a pomegranate a poke with his finger. Chuckling, he rose again to his feet.

"Barbossa, me dearest mate. These girls are worth nothing more than their cargo," He said, cupping the apple in his hands and showing its innards to his friend, whose lips also curled into a smile.

"Smugglers," He said. "Tell me, who exactly is waiting for you and this…product?"

"A man from Kingshead," Margret said cooly. "A cigar dealer."

Without warning, Barbossa grabbed her by the right arm.

"Let go of her, scum!" Rita yelled.

Ignoring her, he pulled down Margaret's sleeve to reveal a small tattoo on her wrist, the image of a clam.

"They're in the union, Jack."

"Ha! An answer to our prayers, after all. Good work, lads. To the brig with 'em," The captain clapped his hands excitedly.

However, their imprisonment was interrupted yet again.

"Captain!" Came a voice from the upper deck. A crewman waving a spyglass came rushing to the edge of the railing. "There's a ship coming in off the port side! It's set a course to meet us."

"Friend or foe?" The captain asked.

"It hoists the Jolly Roger, sir."

The captain looked at Barbossa.

"Could be either, really," He muttered. "Drop anchor, we'll let them come to us. In the meantime, we need to turn around and set course for Devil's Anvil."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded and headed off towards the upper deck. "Raise the low sails, men, we're coming about! Prepare to be boarded!"

Again, Margaret and Rita were roughly led in the direction of the brig, but the Captain approached them more formerly. He had a strangely kind look for someone so keen on locking them up, Rita thought, but then again one could be gentle and wicked.

"Name's Captain Jack Sparrow," He said, tipping his hat. Rita saw Margaret's eyes light up at the name, but she kept her mouth shut. "You've met my first mate, Hector. Your presence aboard my ship is greatly appreciated."

"And why is that?" Rita asked. "Two seconds ago you damn nearly threw us overboard."

"All in good time, darling. Right now I've got more pressing company to deal with, so, off you pop. Koehler? Twigg? If you please."

The cells below were damp and nowhere near as well kept as the rest of the ship. Not that Rita was expecting to be held in comfort. The minute the steps of the men returning to the deck faded, she began desperately searching for a weakness in the structure.

"There must be a softness in some part of the metal from all the water damage," She said.

"I'm curious," Margaret said, sitting down in the corner. "What exactly are you planning on doing once you break out of the cell? Kill every pirate yourself?"

"Got a better plan?"

"Yes. Wait."

Rita let out an exasperated sigh.

"We don't have time for waiting, if we're not at Kingshead at sundown, we'll have Kilington's men after us!" She spat.

"That's hardly a problem right now, seeing as we're prisoners!"

Margaret had a point. As usual. They sat in silence for what felt like ages, hearing the clamor of the crew and the new arrivals up above. Rita had just started thinking that maybe they could snag a rescue from the ship that was now boarding, if she screamed loud enough, when the voices and footsteps suddenly got louder and clearer.

"We found your boat there floating among those rocks there," They heard Captain Jack say. "Thought we'd pick it up, see what was inside. Nothing but this basket of fruit. If it's yours, I'm happy to return it. Only took one apple."

"Nothing else?" came a raspy, piercing voice. It was the voice of a woman. "Boy, come here."

More footsteps.

"You said it was two women?"

"Yes, Captain. Dressed in nice clothes…with guns."

Margaret and Rita exchanged a terrified look at sound of the familiar voice. The ship had been hunting them after all.

"I'm sure I would've remembered that! Would you, lads?' Jack laughed. "Still, can't 'ave gone far. Sure you don't want the fruit? Or the, er, boat?"

"There was something in that boat more precious than any of the rubies and maps it sailed with. And those girls took it from me," The cold voice wheezed. "Out of respect for what you've done for the pirate community, Captain Sparrow, we will leave here in peace. Still, someone ought to pay."

The sound of a sword being drawn. The grunt of the boy. The spatter of blood, and his fall to the floor.

"If you hear anything, Sparrow," The cold Captain said.

"Aye. I know where to find you. Sorry I couldn't be of more…assistance."

It wasn't until they heard the last footsteps retreat above them, and Barbossa give the order to weigh anchor, that Margret and Rita allowed themselves to breathe once more.

"Why the hell didn't he turn us in?" Rita whispered.

"I think we're about to find out."

They listened quietly as the hatch creaked open, and a pair of footsteps descended to decide their fate.


	3. An Accord

Captain Jack Sparrow, followed closely by his first mate, came at Margaret and Rita with a newfound severity that didn't quite suit him.

"Who the ruddy hell _are_ you two?" He yelled, slamming his palm on the grate of the cell. "Who are you two, that you've got the queen of bloody evil boarding my ship?"

The girls exchanged a confused look, then with a slight nod from Margaret, they proceeded to tell the truth.

"Margaret Smyth," said Margaret.

"Rita May," said Rita. "We're smugglers, just like you said."

It was Barbossa's turn to step up to the cell, his eyes glinting with distrust and distaste.

"No two common smugglers would be caught dead stealing from Captain Morgan," He rumbled. "Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?" Margaret said innocently. Rita notice she was doing her best to look like a wounded puppy. "Honest, we didn't know who's boat-"

Without warning, the two men cocked their pistols and aimed them through the cell.

"Lift up your skirts, lasses," Captain Jack said, cracking a smile.

Rita sighed and was about to do just that, when Margaret held her hand out in front of her.

"Hang on," She said, sizing the men up. "If the two of you really wanted us dead, you could have given us to this Morgan person. But you didn't. You need us for something."

"Aye," said the Captain. He lowered his pistol just a bit." We need you to take us into Smuggler's Cove. No tattoo, no entry, as it were, so you're basically our ticket in."

"But we only need one of ye for that," Barbossa sneered. Both of them turned the barrel of their guns towards Rita.

"They've got a point, Margaret," Rita muttered, annoyed. Margaret, however, was not about to be easily deterred. It was unlike her to act complacent when Rita was threatened.

"You need something from Smuggler's Cove worth lying to a dreaded sea Captain for. I'm intrigued, but I see no profit in it for us."

Rita rolled her eyes.

"How about they don't kill us?" She offered sarcastically.

"Aye, what she said," said a smiling Captain Jack.

"No, no, no," Margaret strutted up to the bars. She seemed to be almost eager. "What's to stop us from cutting off our hands at the wrist? Or telling the smuggler's guild we're your prisoners when we get there? They don't take too well to known pirates. No, you'll need something just a bit more to offer us than our lives. Especially since you so rudely halted our last job."

Captain Jack looked thoroughly confused. He even locked eyes with Rita, who merely shrugged. She was used to her friend's unpredictable attitude, and even when it caught her off guard she loyally went along with it. Barbossa, on the other hand, burst out laughing.

"She's got some spirit, this one," He chuckled. "Alright, miss, how 'bout this? We'll split Morgan's treasure squarely, _and_ leave you your lives. Should more than cover what yer previous arrangement offered, judgin' the way Morgan went on 'bout it. After we get into the Cove, yer free to go."

" _Split? The treasure?_ Have you gone mad?" The captain seemed extremely offended at the thought.

"Ye yerself said, Jack, we'll be paid off well enough once we get what we need."

"Just because you're such a gentleman, doesn't mean we all have to suffer!"

Barbossa stepped back from the cells to face his captain with a grave glare. When he spoke, it was with an iciness the women weren't expecting. He was fearsome in the brief instant before he spoke, and Rita found herself wondering why he was only second in command.

"On the contrary," He said. "It's because of yer selfishness that we've made more enemies than allies on this quest. Don't think the men don't notice how ye choose yer battles."

Captain Jack looked like he was about to retort, but instead allowed Barbossa to stare him down. After a beat, he gave his first mate a phony smile that looked more like a grimace, then returned to his prisoners.

"Do we have an accord, then?" He asked.

Margret and Rita didn't have to look at one another to know they were on the same page. All things considered, they didn't really have a choice. The two nodded, and the tension eased. Barbossa moved forward to open the cell. The pirates were still holding their weapons, and the moment the bars were no longer barring them, they were pointed at the girls' heads once more.

"Skirts, please," Captain Jack said. "You think you're the first ones I've met to hide their booty in their…y'know, booty?"

"Are we not?" Rita said, amused.

"Well, yeah, you are. But I always wondered why no one did it sooner."

The women raised the masses of fabric at their feet to reveal the satchels of treasure; treasure supposedly worth killing over. Without a word, the two began untying the knots and dropping the bags to the floor with satisfying _clunks_.

"Here, let me help you," Captain Jack joked, moving towards Rita's legs. This entertained Barbossa, but Rita swung her petticoat back down with great force.

"I tied 'em, I can undo 'em. Chivalrous, isn't he?" She said. Her heart beat was beginning to return to normal, and her confidence was rising. "Captain…Jack, was it?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow. You mean, you haven't heard of me?"

"No."

"I have," Margret had clearly been waiting to say this. "You're the one who took out the Spanish Pirate Slayer not too long ago. My brother told me all about you. Thinks you're a hero."

Humility was not Jack's strong suit, but he attempted a bashful expression.

"'Hero' is such a strong word…"

Margret caught Barbossa roll his eyes dramatically, and stifled a laugh.

"Looking forward to watching you prove it, Jack," She said, bending down to collect the satchels in her arms.

" _Captain_ , actually-"

"Shall we divide this up somewhere more pleasant?" Rita asked, her arms full of the remaining bags.

Hardly believing how the day had turned, Rita and Margaret soon found themselves being led up to the dining cabin to barter with pirates over dinner. While waiting for the other two to climb to the deck, Margaret turned to face Barbossa, who was bringing up the rear.

"Thank you," She said. "Hector."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Just who told ye to call me that?"

"Your captain."

Hector wrestled for a moment between chuckling and growling. Margaret kept her expression doe-eyed. If she'd crossed a line, she surely wasn't going to admit it.

"Arr, a guest on the Black Pearl is hardly a higher rank than prisoner. Don't get cocky," He replied. "And git movin'."

But Margaret was sure she saw him smile to himself as she turned back around.


	4. In a Long Time

Though now in the clear, Rita couldn't help but feel her anger boil at the lecherous leers she and Margaret received from crew members as they moved through the ship. They had hardly earned any sort of respect, having been hostages only moments ago, but she followed her friend's lead and held her head high. Even with Captain Jack's announcement proclaiming their alliance and forewarning against any mistreatment of the two, the crew had an unwelcoming presence.

Dividing Morgan's treasure would be another anxious experience. There hadn't been much, even with what they recovered from the boat, but then again the girls had no idea what it was all worth. All they could do was continue to exaggerate its value while splitting the yield. They had laid it out on one side of the large table that occupied most of the great cabin, into piles of coins, gold, gems, maps, and trinkets. On the other side was a spread of food and drink more lavish than any Rita or Margaret had seen in a long time. Though their mouths were parched and their stomachs hollow, they tried not to stare too longingly at the meal while Jack and Hector poured over the goods.

"Is that all there is?" Jack said, slightly crestfallen. "I'm beginning to rethink this…"

"Quality, not quantity, Captain," Hector said. He had picked up a strangely shaped ruby and was holding it up to the light. "Now, girls. What was it ye took that Morgan thought was worth more than her riches?"

"No idea," Margaret said, running her hands along the coins. "Your guess is as good as ours."

"Well, then, we best start lookin'."

The four of them began examining every item. Not sure what they were searching for, exactly, Margaret and Rita kept stealing glances at the plates of hot meat and goblets of wine waiting for them. Jack and Hector were too enthralled to notice, eyeing one piece after the next with no indication that they were any closer to finding it than the girls. Rita spotted a familiar trinket in the pile. She picked up the dented, golden spyglass and tried looking through, even though she knew what she'd find.

"Thought you said that was broken," noted Margaret.

"I did. Still is. But I didn't realize before, there's something…" Rita didn't bother finishing her thought. It wasn't important that the spyglass showed her only darkness, despite her knowledge that even a broken one would still display colors. Something must have gotten jammed inside. Deciding it was hardly worth the time, she tossed it back on the pile. It made a light clink that caused Jack to look over.

"Hand that to me," He said, suddenly serious. He was gesturing to the spyglass. Rita did.

Hector looked up, too. Together, they became absorbed in the little curio. After a moment of holding it every which way, and looking at it from every angle, Jack's curious expression soon turned to one of giddiness.

"Yes! Yes, it's got to be. How long do you think Morgan's been sitting on this one, eh Barbossa?"

"Not long enough, clearly," Hector was grinning. "Ye know what that is, lasses?"

"I can see what it is, but not what's so special about it," Margaret said, moving around the table to get a better look at it.

"Circe's spyglass. As the legend goes, before the old witch sunk her island into the sea, she hid a map inside a golden spyglass. A map that would lead to all her worldly possessions. And the spyglass was sealed with a spell. She had given it to a lover to keep safe, but was betrayed by the young lad, who went in search of the treasure for himself. When she found out, her wrath destroyed the man and his crew, and the spyglass was lost. They say she only knew of his disloyalty 'cause a piece of her lives in the glass. It's her way of looking upon the mortal realm."

There was a moment of quiet as they took in the ghost story. Unconsciously, they all inched closer to the item as if it had begun to call out to them.

"Bloody superstition, most of it. But the map is real, and so are the many who have failed to find it," He continued, breaking the trance. "And here we are."

"Here we are," Jack echoed with a smile.

"There's definitely something in there, map or not," said Rita. "We just have to open it."

Without hesitation, Jack began attempting to pry the thing open with his bare hands. When he had no luck, they each took a turn fighting with the object that simply wouldn't budge no matter how it was twisted or pulled. They decided to try and smash it open, but after Jack couldn't make a dent with his sword, they gave in for the night.

"I'll lock it up in here," He said, placing it in a tiny chest. "You'll not breathe a word of this to the crew, savvy?"

The other three nodded their agreement. At last, they sat down to eat. Margaret and Rita wolfed down their dinner, much to the amusement of their pirate cohorts. It was a surprisingly charming evening, where when everyone had had a bit too much wine there was even banter and friendly interviewing. The women were told all about how the crew of the Black Pearl was already in the midst of a search for another ancient treasure.

"An' that's why we need you!" said a merry Jack. "There's no map to Isla De Muerta, see, but I've been able to piece together enough to keep up the hunt. I received word that a page from Cortes' journal was traded through a mule in your guild, and I _know_ it's what we've been looking for."

That night, Rita fell asleep in her hammock almost instantly. She'd never been a strong handler of wine. Margaret, however, could not stay still. She usually couldn't when the moon was full anyway, but her mind was buzzing with fantasies of Circe's lost treasure. What they'd been given in the bargain was hardly enough to live on, despite being more than Killington had offered, but a sea witch's bounty would serve them very well indeed. Barefoot, she set out on a stroll through the ship to give her restless mind something to do. Upon request, the girls had been given some of the men's old clothes in lieu of their stiff dresses. They didn't quite fit well, but were better than corsets and allowed for more free range of motion.

She was about to step out onto the main deck, when the sound of quiet voices held her back.

"I'm jus' sayin', Jack," Hector said, clearly impatient. "We were supposed to stop in Tortuga before ye changed course. The men haven't set foot on land in days, and we're runnin' low on supplies."

"We're kind of in the middle of something important here, you really want to stop now? The men can handle themselves just fine, they want this, too." Jack sounded almost like he was pouting.

"Aye, but they won't thank ye too kindly when they're starvin' and restless!"

"Oh, come on. They seem fine. Bootstrap agrees with me, don't you, Bootstrap?"

A new, cracked voice spoke at a low level.

"'Course, Captain. But there are whispers among the crew that ye…well, that yer leadin' 'em on a dead man's course. I know yer doin' all ye can to get us to the Isle, but it's hard to follow ye blindly without compensation along the way. Sir."

"Fine, FINE!" Jack said, louder than he probably should have. "We'll dock at the closest port. Should be by tomorrow night. Happy?"

Margaret guessed the other two men were satisfied with this response.

"G'night, Captain," The man named Bootstrap said. His footsteps came closer to Margaret, who managed to hide behind a beam as he walked by. Barbossa and Jack remained.

"Hector, I appreciate you trying to tell me how to captain my ship and all, but do it in front of a crewmate and I will slice your ugly beard off." The childish words were what Jack left Hector with as he stalked off to the captain's quarters. Margaret poked her head out to get a view of the open deck.

Hector sighed, but instead of going to bed like his shipmates, he walked to the edge of the ship and peered out at the moon on the water. From his pocket, he pulled the odd ruby he'd acquired earlier. He tossed it lightly between his hands, then and held it up high to the sky as if trying to stick it up alongside the other stars.

"Good choice, that gem," Margaret said, stepping out into the moonlight. She knew she'd startled Barbossa, but he didn't let on. Instead he simply looked upon her with a tense lip, so she continued, without meeting his glare. "Looks like it was plucked straight from the ore. I used to think that's what stars looked like up close. Red, firey, bright little monsters."

He didn't say anything for a moment, just watched as she joined him up against the ship's edge.

"'fraid nothin' on Earth's as bright as the stars," Hector finally replied, allowing himself to relax. "Ye shouldn't be wanderin' the ship alone at night."

"What's wrong with night? I've got the moon and Carina lighting the whole ship, good as day." She gestured haphazardly at a rather large star, whose strength nearly shadowed all the other stars in close range.

"Carina, eh?" Hector chuckled. "That'd be the brightest star in the north. Ye study the stars much, Miss?"

"As a child. My grandfather made maps of them, but it's been a while since I've been able to see so many at one time. Carina's the only one I can ever really remember."

"Aye, a hard one to forget. Been a saving grace on many a ship I've sailed," Hector said quietly, following her gaze up to the beaming speck.

"You know a lot about the heavens, then?"

"Ye have to, if ye want to navigate the sea. Though," He added. "I admit I do a fair bit more research than the average buccaneer."

Margaret grinned, hoping to hear more. He could sense this, however, and took a step back. "Now, ye should really be getting off to-"

"You get sick of taking orders from a boy like Jack?" Margaret was feeling bolder than ever. She still didn't look Barbossa in the eyes, though she could feel him staring at her, trying to read her.

"Not sure it's any o' yer business what I may or may not be sick of," His tone suddenly became dangerous, but Margaret did not act as though she'd asked anything stranger than "how are you feeling?"

"Mm. I suppose not," She said. "I can tell deep down he's grateful to have you, though."

Hector let out a sharp laugh.

"Can ye, now? That bastard doesn't know how good he's got it."

"In the guild, all the mules act as a family. Rita's like my sister. We stick out our necks for each other, and no one gets left behind. It's not like that here, is it?"

Another laugh, but softer this time. For the first time since approaching him, Margaret turned to look into his eyes. They were the one part of his face amidst the scars that looked young and alert.

"That's the pirate's life for ye. Can't get too close, lest the tides turn. But we adapt to whoever aims to get what we want. That's the beauty of it. But not everyone's cut out to lead, 'specially those who can't think beyond their own needs…"

Margaret sensed he was falling back into a dark place, so she tried to ease the conversation in a different direction.

"So…no family ashore, then? No wife and children waiting for you when you return?"

"Not for me, no. I reckon none of these men got a woman worth fightin' for. They'd rather not share their plunder. 'Course we visit the local tavern wenches whenever we can…" He added with a wink.

"Charming, "Margaret said wryly, and Hector chuckled again.

"What about you, miss? Yer about marrying age, are ye not?"

"Do I look like the marrying type to you?" Margaret pretended to take offense. "No, I've got enough to do in my line of work as it is without having to be responsible for the lives of others."

"A husband would take care of ye, would he not?"

"A husband would expect me to stay home, take care of the children, while he goes off and gets into bar fights. I've heard the stories, and I'm not fond of the concept," Margaret said harshly. "Besides, I've got Rita to keep me alive. And a job that keeps me on the water. What more could I want?"

"Hear, hear," agreed Hector.

The two fell silent for a moment. Margaret realized she'd been looking at him for far too long before she turned to face the water once more.

"I certainly don't believe in nonsense such as fate," Hector mused all of a sudden. "But that ye came to our ship when we needed yer services is something of a coincidence. Yer not really an assassin, are ye?"

It was Margaret's turn to laugh.

"I'm not. Promise." She held her hand over her heart. "Mule's honor."

"An unfortunate thing to call such a pretty girl," smirked Hector, looking away at something near the helm.

"Was that you flirting?"

"That was me endin' this encounter. Someone's coming, and the men aren't too fond of ye yet."

He put his hand on her shoulder to turn her back towards the cabins, but the instant he did Margaret felt a rush pulse through her. It was something she hadn't felt in a while, nor did she expect to with someone like him. Trying not to think about it, she bid the first mate goodnight and returned to her hammock, praying to get some sleep.


	5. Possessed

The following day consisted of Margaret and Rita lying as low as they possibly could. Both cursed with a natural curiosity and audacity, this wasn't exactly easy. As soon as they awoke they were running about the ship, exploring every nook and cranny available. Neither of them had sailed on a pirate ship before. Even Margaret, whose own brother had served on a pirate crew for years, could not say she'd ever worked alongside them. Sure, they'd been on vessels equal in stature and glamour, but there was something mystical about the Pearl that made them feel as inspirited as young children.

Jack appeared at the right moment to whisk them out of trouble, after Rita had accidentally knocked into a particularly tall and mean looking crewman.

"Ah, just the women I was looking for!" He said, taking hold of Rita's hand and leading the two in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. When they were out of earshot he said, "Best not to make eye contact with that one. Now, can either of you read ancient runes? It's how your guild marks territories, is it not?"

Margaret grinned.

"I can. Rita can't," She said.

"Shut it, I'm learning!"

"Does this have anything to do with the spyglass?" Margaret edged on.

"Matter o' fact," Jack winked, pushing the door open to the great cabin. "Upon further inspection, it would seem there's symbols carved round the center. I could only see them with me own glass."

Inside, Hector was already hunched over an overcrowded table, shuffling through the pages of a book. The spyglass lay in front of him, looking none the worse for wear considering the beating it had taken. He greeted them with a curt nod, taking care not to look at Margaret or act as if he was any warmer to either woman.

"No need for that outdated translation," Jack waved his hand at Hector's book. "I've got us an expert."

"'Expert' is a strong word," Margaret said with a sly smile. "But let me have a look."

She held out her hand. Both Jack and Hector reached for it at the same time, but the captain was slightly quicker. Once she had it in her palms, Margaret raised it to eyelevel. She could just make out the inscription. Without being asked, Hector handed her his own spyglass to magnify the writing. After a minute passed, with Margaret straining and everyone waiting with bated breath, she looked up, frowning.

"It's …just a bunch of little lines and shapes. They're not like any runes I've ever seen," She said. "And I know runes from five regions."

"Yeah, alright, Miss Boastful," Rita said, rolling her eyes. "Give it here."

Raising her eyebrows, Margaret gracefully passed the baton. Rita had only scrutinized the object for a few moments before her eyes widened.

"It's because they're not runes," She said quietly. "They're pictograms. Traders in certain regions used to put them on goods for the illiterate, but they're hardly still used. Mostly they're for giving directions, or-"

"Instructions," Margaret finished. Rita nodded.

"Yes! Brilliant. Way easier than I thought this would be," Jack was so excited he was unsteady on his feet. Or perhaps he'd already been drinking.

"Well, enough of the back patting! What does it say to do?" Hector came forward.

Rita got back to reading.

"Right. This one here…It's an arrow pointing down, and then a water symbol. So it needs to be exposed to water. I think?"

It seemed quite an anticlimactic thing to do, but deciding that anything was worth a shot, Barbossa fetched a bucket of saltwater. Rita held the spyglass below the surface as the rest crowded around her. Just when she was beginning to feel silly, the inscription began to glow.

"What now?" Margaret said hurriedly.

"Um, right, guess I should have read the whole thing first…"

"It's bleeding glowing, just read it now!" Jack encouraged.

The next image in the line was a circle, which Rita knew to mean "sun". Then an eyeball. Then a series of curved arrows.

"I…I think it needs sunlight next. Then someone has to look through it while twisting the focus. Left. Right. Then left again. Then that's it," Rita said, her hands still under the water.

Margaret was standing closest to the window. Rita tossed it to her, nervous for time with the line still glowed, and her friend did just as she'd been told. Both she and the glass gleamed in the sunlight.

"Is she supposed to look like that? All glowy?" Jack wondered aloud.

No one knew what was _supposed_ to happen. Cautiously, Margaret brought the piece up to her eye and peered in. She placed her free hand on the center and adjusted it, left, right. Left.

The effect was instantaneous. A serpent-like mist erupted from the cracks in the spyglass, but Margaret was frozen solid. Her eyes were wide open, and from where her left eye touched the end of the device came a pool of black that seeped over her brown irises and filled the corners. She looked demonic.

"Margaret? Margaret!" Rita rushed frantically up to her friend and started to shake her. Jack grabbed on her shoulder to pull her back.

"Keep your distance, love!"

"What's happening to her?"

Margaret suddenly dropped the spyglass to the floor where it rolled away from her. She stood, shaking and statue-like at the same time. Slowly, her mouth opened to release a horrible hissing sound. It was followed then by a high voice that did not belong to Margaret.

" _Under Delphinus, my love, below Poseidon, my ally, between my mother and father, I stay."_

The black began to recede from her eyes, and Margaret slowly returned to herself. Not for long, however. She gasped once, then fell limp. Rita moved to catch her, but Hector had beat her to it.

"I've gotcha, miss. I've gotcha," He whispered, gently brushing the waves of hair from her face as he held her steady. Margaret settled into unconsciousness.

Everyone was hardly grasping what had just happened. Rita had acquired a wild spark in her eye. She looked between the pirates vehemently.

"Did anyone get all of that? We need to remember every line!"

"Below Poseidon…something… Dolphin?" Jack had picked up the discarded spyglass. "This didn't even open." He gave it a shake.

"That doesn't matter!"

"She's right, Jack. The map's in the words. And its _Delphinus_ , a constellation," Hector said. "Under that, and between her mother 'n father. That's where it be."

"A bloody riddle. Just what I needed," Jack muttered, tucking the spyglass into his shirt. "I'll hang onto this, just in case. She okay?" He added, gesturing to Margaret.

"Fine. Just fainted," replied Barbossa.

Rita turned back to her friend, who looked nearly lifeless aside from the slow rise and fall of her chest. With a pang of guilt, she realized she'd been far more consumed by Circe's information than with Margaret's well-being.

"Hector, take her to my bunk. You can lie her down there until she comes to," Jack said. "Rita, a word, if you don't mind."

Hector scooped Margaret up into his arms with great ease and walked her out of the room, leaving Jack and Rita alone. She looked at him as he moved closer to her, leaning one hand on the table

"Funny," He said nonchalantly. "As far as I know, traders haven't written in pictograms for about a hundred years. Unless you're some immortal creature or come from a very quaint village, I'd say it was all too lucky you knew about them."

Rita swallowed, but met his eyes with cool indifference.

"You don't know me, Captain Sparrow," She said calmly. "Perhaps I'm an academic and learned in school."

"There is another craft I know of, in which it's still used. Mainly for recipes. Potion recipes."

Rita stiffened. He knew he had her, and wasn't about to back down. Thinking of Margaret waiting in the next room, she gave in.

"My mother was an aspiring alchemist, alright? She taught me what I know. Before she was arrested for witchcraft, of course. My father was taken too, for hiding her. Suppose I wasn't seen as a threat, so they left me alone," Rita realized she was talking too much. "It's not like I believed in any of it, though. Magic and ghost stories were never my thing…And yet, after what I just saw I honestly don't know what to believe."

She fell silent. Jack gave her a smile, pleased with his interrogation skills.

"Nor do I. So you've got sorcery in your blood," He said, interested.

"Call it what you like. But if word got out, I'd be a dead woman walking, so hold your tongue if you don't mind. Even around Margaret…"

"You have my word," Jack said, taking his hat off in a grand gesture. "You know, you could be far more useful than I imagined."

The two found Barbossa standing beside a stirring Margaret in Jack's quarters. Rita hurried to her bedside, taking hold of her hand.

"How d'you feel" She whispered. Margaret groaned and opened her eyes a crack.

"Truly awful," She said. "What the hell happened?"

Rita explained everything, while the two pirates loomed by the doorway. Margaret, as it turned out, could remember the riddle perfectly, albeit nothing else about the experience.

"Now, look, about this treasure…" Jack interjected.

"We're coming with you to find Circe's loot. That's not up for discussion," said Rita.

"But we'll be needing our fair share," Margaret added.

"To be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way. You, Hector?" Jack turned to his first mate.

Hector looked surprised to be asked outright for his opinion.

"They're more help than not, and if we aim to find it before Morgan finds us, we haven't a minute to waste. The crew won't mind after an evenin' inland…and we tell 'em what they're in for."

"So, it's settled. You'll work with us to solve this damn thing, then we'll take Smuggler's Run to your Cove," Jack declared. "Just thought I'd ask first, in case you had somewhere to be."

Rita laughed, knowing that a pirate would hardly waste time "asking" if he thought the answer was no.

"We only ever have to be where there's profit," She said.

"Well, then. Welcome to the crew."

The crew took the news of changing course again particularly well, once Jack shared the tale of Circe's lost fortune. It was because of this that they were in a good mood when the boat anchored off of Cutthroat Isle, and even graciously helped Margaret and Rita into the boats heading to shore. They had been there only once before to drop off cargo, but never as tourists. The girls were excited to have a night of leisure, though the thought of the coming adventure hung in the back of their heads.

They were spending the evening at a local inn just by the docks, with an exceptionally lively tavern. There was drinking, laughter, live music, and even dancing. Neither Margaret nor Rita had danced in a long time, but after a few rounds they were gleefully being spun by the crew and each other.

Jack and Hector had occupied a table close to the bar in the hopes of spending time discussing plans, but instead were rosy cheeked and drinking to every good name they could think of. Jack was amused to notice Hector watching the girls parade about the room with great interest.

"You fancy the tall one, don't you?" Jack said. "Smyth, right?"

Hector avoided responding by taking a large gulp of his rum.

"Just go and twirl 'er around a bit, she seems to like that," Jack egged him on. "Or at least talk to her."

"I'll talk to her when I have sumthin' to say," said Hector, annoyed.

"My friend, I've seen you with women. You have no trouble with a wench who's giggling on your lap, but when it comes to someone you might actually care for—"

"Care for? I just met the lass. Don't dare presume to know what's goin' on in me mind."

"They're coming over. Let Jackie show you how it's done."

Hector rolled his eyes. It was a response he gave Jack more than anyone he'd ever met. Still, he was right. Margaret and Rita had made their way over to the table, laughing and looking more carefree than the pirates had ever seen them.

"Don't either of you dance?" Rita asked in a scandalized tone.

"Certainly I do!" Jack said, affronted. "But only after I've finished my fifth drink."

He chugged the remainder of his mug's contents, then stood up abruptly, swaying slightly as he did. He held his hand out to Rita.

"There. Shall we?"

"Aye-aye," Rita teased, eagerly taking his hand.

With a wink over his shoulder, Jack whisked Rita off into the crowd of merriment. Margaret slumped in the unoccupied seat next to Hector.

"Do you mind?" She asked. "I'm exhausted."

"Not at all, miss."

"Margaret. 'Miss' is far too…proper.

"Margaret, then," Hector said softly. It sounded delicate on his lips. "Good to see yer feelin' better. Enjoying yerself?"

"I am. I don't much get the opportunity to dance. But places like these make me a bit wary." She helped herself to a bit of Hector's drink, which he allowed with a smirk.

"An unsavory lot ye'll find here, I'll admit," He said, pulling his drink out of her reach. She looked like she'd had a bit too much already. "And I'm sure they're not used to havin' such young and attractive company around."

Margaret snorted.

"Attractive?" She said, tossing her hair to one side as thought suddenly conscience of its existence. "Alright, tell me what's so attractive about me. Go on."

"Er, ye've got a nice…face."

Margaret seemed to ponder this for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Fine, I'll buy it," She said. "You do too, sort of."

Without warning, she lifted her hand to Hector's cheek. It tingled where she touched, but he didn't pull away.

"Mine be weathered and scarred. Not worth writing home about," He said, chuckling.

Margaret lightly traced an indent underneath his eye.

"How did you get them?" She asked quietly, sounding more sober than she had all night.

Hector pressed his own hand to hers and the two rested upon his cheek. He looked at her with a certain sadness that made her heart ache.

"Another time, perhaps."

Margaret didn't realize that her breathing had become shallow. She locked eyes with him, wanting desperately in that moment to unearth his secrets. She almost felt as though she'd been possessed yet again, but by something far stronger than a sea witch.

"I can't have been the first to ask," She said, leaning closer.

"Aye. But the first I'd want to tell the truth to."

They sat like that for a moment, hands cradled in each other. Margaret, who had been moving her face closer with each second, was inches away from his before a voice interrupted them, dragging them back to the rest of the world.

"Barbossa," Bootstrap had rushed up to their table, looking perturbed. Reluctantly, Hector turned away from Margaret.

"What do ye want?" he growled.

"It's Morgan, sir. She's here."


	6. Weak

Barbossa scanned the room. Sure enough, at the far end of the tavern, the fearsome captain Morgan had just entered with a few of her shipmen. They didn't appear to be looking for trouble at that particular moment, but Hector and Bootstrap leaned in around the table to keep their faces from plain view.

"Morgan," Margaret repeated in a whisper. "I know I've heard that name before. No relation to Henry Morgan the Terrible, is there?"

"His only daughter," Bootstrap explained with a nod.

"Right after he went inactive in 1671, she gained control of his entire fleet. Now she be a force of her own, not to be reckoned with," Hector finished. "And if she finds out we have her glass after all…"

"We're done for," Margaret agreed.

"Jack's nowhere to be found. What should we do, sir?" said Bootstrap quietly to Hector.

"Nothin', fer now. The innocent don't act guilty, but the guilty can act innocent," He replied, leaning back in his chair.

It was only a matter of time before Morgan spotted them, but when she did she hardly looked as hostile as Margaret had pictured. In fact, she thought she had a rather gentle face, with serene eyes that resembled a cat's. The sea of people parted where she walked, and her posture was that of royalty, despite being a privateer's child. She was older than Margaret, and carried herself with the dignity of someone who had to claw and fight her way to power from a young age. When she reached their table, she gave the trio a thin lipped smile.

"Fancy that, running into you lot again," She said in a silky voice. She spoke just above a whisper, but each of her words was crystal clear. "You're not following us, are you?"

Barbossa returned the smile.

"Could ask the same of ye," He said playfully. "I admit it's an honor to be meetin' again in less…agitating circumstances."

"Less agitating for you, perhaps," Morgan said, looking over her shoulder. "I'm still on a manhunt. Been to four islands in the vicinity, no one's seen the noblewomen who stole from me. Least that's what they all say, but I suspect they're all telling the truth."

"Why's that?" Bootstrap piped up. Morgan gave a fiendish chuckle that sounded like the tinkling of bells.

"Oh, I've learned that people are always the most honest right before they die," She said, examining her fingernails. "But so far it's yielded nothing but a trail of corpses with their pockets emptied."

Margaret hid her horror behind a tiny cough. Morgan looked at her as though just noticing she was there.

"She yours, Barbossa?"

"An old friend. Margaret Smyth. Lives on the other side of Cutthroat."

"Well, she's quite the beauty. Name's Adrianna Morgan, by the way, since your escorts can't seem to remember their manners long enough to introduce us," Morgan bestowed a warm smile upon Margaret. "A young woman like yourself can do much better than them for company, Smyth."

Margaret grinned weakly.

"That's very kind ma'am, but I'm not so sure I can, unfortunately."

Morgan let out another light laugh that was joined by the rest in hesitation.

"Don't give them anything they don't ask for first," She said seriously.

Margaret stopped laughing, chilled by the woman's warning, and a bit in awe of her boldness. She'd never met another woman like her, not even among the smuggler's guild. She was both inspiring and terrifying at the same time.

"Where's your captain gone off to?" Morgan continued, looking around. "I'd love to hear the first person account of Salazar's downfall."

"He's around here somewhere, should turn up soon. Can I buy ye a drink?" Barbossa said.

Margaret admired the cunning way he feigned civility, knowing full well he didn't truly want Morgan to stick around for long. Perhaps, though, it wasn't tact, but fear. Stealing a glimpse at him, she thought she did catch a hint of trepidation in his indecipherable eyes.

"No, I'd better be off," Morgan said. "I need to collect my men before they drink themselves to death. Been a pleasure, gents. Lady."

With a nod, she disappeared once more into the crowd. The three at the table had only a moment to exchange worried looks, before two crewmen from the Pearl came stumbling up. The taller of the two was dragging the other by his collar.

"Barbossa, sir," The tall one spoke in an undertone, though his anger was obvious. "I overheard this one lettin' his tongue slip—told a couple of men we were after Circe's treasure."

Barbossa stood up at once and pulled the alleged traitor up where he could speak directly into his face. The man was obviously not in his right state of mind, and looked very confused as to how he got there.

"Who were ye talking to?" Hector breathed.

"Jus' some folks, some folks! Wanted to know where I was goin', so I told 'em."

"You fool!" The tall crewman spat. "You've doomed us all!

The drunk suddenly seemed horrified.

"I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to! Please ye have ta believe me!"

"Oh, I do." Barbossa said quietly. He dropped him to the floor, where he began to weep. Without looking at the pathetic scene, Barbossa turned to his shipmates. "Bootstrap, gather the men and return to the ship. We'll find Jack and meet you there. We don't know how much time we have 'til word reaches Morgan, but if we're not back within the half hour…keep to the code. And the rat stays ashore."

The man on the floor wept even harder. Without another word, the other two crewmen went off to do as they were told. Hector held onto Margaret's hand, and together they swept through the tavern. There was no sign of Jack or Rita anywhere, but fortunately none of Morgan yet either. Finally, they decided to try outdoors. They looked up and down the street, but with no avail. Just as they were about to lose hope, a voice shouted from a pile of hay outside the Tavern stables.

"Hey, look, it's our friends!" garbled Captain Jack Sparrow. He and Rita stood up from where they'd been laying in the pile, covered in bits of hay and dirt. Their clothes were askew as though hastily thrown on, and both were breathing like they had just run a mile. Rita had on a sheepish grin, and wouldn't look Margaret in the eye, but Jack looked thrilled to see them.

"You didn't bring anything to drink, did you?" He stumbled out, throwing his arms around Hector and Margaret. Pointing at Rita he stage whispered, "She knows how to have fun!"

"Hey, the hay was your idea!" Rita said, running up to join them. Jack tried to hold in a laugh.

"'Hey the hay'," He repeated, delighted.

"Enough!" Margaret said sharply. "We need to get back to the ship. Captain Morgan's here, and she may or may not have found out we have her spyglass. So move it!"

Jack and Rita looked at each other, then back to Margaret and Hector.

"That's not very good, is it?" Jack mumbled.

The trip back to the Black Pearl was awkward, to say the least. Jack spent it fiddling anxiously with the spyglass and making Margaret repeat the riddle to him every few minutes. Barbossa kept a watchful eye on the shore, to see if they were being followed. Rita remained silent.

At last they made it back on board, with the help of the crew who had just begun to weigh anchor. They had already set a course for the north, where Delphinus lay in the sky, but otherwise they had only the one clue to aid their wayfinding.

"I need a map!" Captain Jack said at once. "A really big one. And, preferably, an astrolabe. We're going to get there before Morgan can catch us."

He and Hector headed off to the cabin while the men scurried about to prepare the Pearl for leaving the harbor. Rita made to follow the captain and first mate, but Margaret held her back.

"Rita, you need to be more careful," She whispered icily. Rita blinked. It was a rare thing that Margaret be the one to chastise for misbehavior, and it was clear she was uncomfortable doing so.

"There's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun!" said Rita. She hoped that would end the conversation, and tried again to enter the cabin, but Margaret held on.

"A boy like Jack is not to be trusted. Aside from being a pirate, he's foolhardy and self-absorbed," She said. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"Oh, but it's alright for you to be hanging off his first mate's arm? Don't think I don't notice you two. You can hardly complain about me shacking up with a pirate when you go starry-eyed every time you see him."

Margaret frowned, but looked down at her feet.

"Firstly, I do not. Secondly, it doesn't matter. We'll be off this ship in a matter of days, and then we'll never see them again," She said flatly.

"Unless we get killed by Morgan first."

"Right. Unless that. But in the meantime…no more hay bales, alright? You're still a child."

Rita looked furious. She leaned in close, and Margaret could see the fire in her green eyes. She knew she had gone too far.

"Let's get something straight. I can look out for myself. I'm not the same terrified, broken girl you met all those years ago. I can defend myself, and I will never, ever, let another man take advantage of me. Everything I do now is my choice. Just because I was weak then, doesn't mean I still am."

They both fell silent for a moment. Margaret took a breath and gently rested her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"You were never weak, Rita," She murmured. "It's the men that are weak."

Rita hadn't been expecting to hear this. She didn't' know what to say, and was grateful when Margaret simply picked up her hand and led her into the cabin to continue their journey.


	7. Surrender

Jack had already laid out a large map on the crowded table. When the girls entered, he met Rita's eyes with a little grin, which she only half-heartedly returned.

"There be a number of islands under the constellation," Hector explained, pointing to a cluster of small formations far out on the edge of the map. "Not to mention how many there may be uncharted."

" _Between my mother and father,"_ Margaret recited dully. "I don't know how literally she meant in 'between', but I do know that in the legends, Circe's mother was the nymph Perse, and her father the sun god, Helios."

Everyone looked at her.

"How long 'ave you been sitting on that?" Hector asked, impressed.

"I just thought Greek mythology was common knowledge," Margaret offered, though really she had just forgotten until that moment.

"On the map, are there any passageways or islands related to those names?" Rita asked, bending over the table.

Jack ran his finger along the markings in the northern corner.

"Here, a route called 'Perseis'. That's got to be her mum. And somewhere around here must be… There," Jack jabbed at the map in triumph. "The island of Helius. The salty gal went and spelled it right out for us."

"Now all we have to do is get there first," Margaret said grimly.

"Should be some days' trip, but at least we've got a head start," estimated Hector. "I've bin wonderin', though. Should it come to a fight, do ye ladies know how to handle yerselves?"

"Of course! Rita and I are just about the sharpest shooters in our field," Margaret boasted.

"I meant with a cutlass, lass. A gun's not much use when a blade's at yer throat."

Margaret and Rita looked at each other. Though they had carried sabers before, they had never actually wielded them in true combat. The occasion never called for it, and their pistols suited them well while working mostly on the mainland.

"Not really," Rita admitted truthfully. "But…we can learn fast?"

The days that followed were subsequently filled with swordplay. Hector and Jack took turns training them, and sometimes even someone from the crew would join in the practice. Rita had been right. The girls picked up the skill quickly, thanks to not being complete novices, but they were far from perfect. Their mentors were anything but easy on them.

"Never let your guard down!" barked Hector as he disarmed Margaret in one foul swoop. She had made the error of looking away at the sound of Rita knocking over a barrel in an attempt to sit and watch her friend's exercise.

Hector pointed his blade at Margaret's neck and gave her a look that was somewhere between a smirk and an appraisal. The two had found excuses to run into each other every night since leaving Cutthroat. When the ship was mostly asleep, they would either continue Margaret's practice, sit dangerously on the ship's rail and tell stories, or else just stand quietly together and watch the stars. These times were never long enough, and Margaret had to bite her tongue every time she wanted to ask him to stay. It was an unexpected friendship, and cautious though she was of a brute like Hector, she couldn't help but desire his company.

Refusing to end training on a loss, Margaret seized her sword from the floor of the deck and crossed it with Hector's.

"Again," she said.

He obliged. The two were off, and this time Margaret was not going to be distracted. She came at Hector with such force that he almost lost his balance. He would never just let her win, however, and immediately regained his stance to return the blow. Their blades met and pressed firmly against one another, neither daring to be the first one to let go. They stood like that, staring eye to eye, for only a few seconds before interrupted by a voice at the helm.

"White sails on the horizon!" called Captain Jack. "That's got to be Morgan."

"What should we do, Captain?" Hector yelled up to him "Drop anchor and face her now?"

"Trim the jib and continue at full speed. We'll beat her yet."

Hours passed, and the ship behind them remained the same distance back. It was as though she wasn't trying to catch up to them after all.

"She's following us. She knows we'll lead her right to it, and then she can make her move," Rita said to Jack as the two stood looking over the rail on the upper deck.

"We'll just have to play along," Jack said quietly. "And hope for the best."

After another half-day's journey, with Morgan's ship constantly lurking over their shoulder, the Pearl reached her destination. There, between the miniscule Island of Helius and Perseis passage was….

"Bleedin' nothing?" The crew began to shout, outraged that their travels had led them to an empty scape of ocean.

"Hold on, HOLD ON!" Jack raised his hands to calm them down. "Circe's clue said it was under Poseidon, so, in theory…"

"It's what, underwater? How do you expect us to get there?" Koehler said angrily.

Margaret had hardly been able to put together what was happening. Confused, she rushed up to Jack's side to address the crew.

"I don't understand, can't you all see it?"

Everyone looked at her, perplexed.

"Right there," She pointed. "A small beach in the inlet, right between Helius and Perseis. That's got to be it, right?"

They continued to stare like she had gone mad, all except for Jack who was struck with an idea. He pulled out the golden spyglass from his shirt, and looked through it at the direction Margaret was pointing. Sure enough, he could suddenly make out a little formation amongst the waves. When he lowered the glass, it was gone again.

"She's right," He yelled. "We can't see it, but it's there. We'll go down, retrieve the bounty, and be back—"

"Sir, it's Morgan! She's caught up!" Bootstrap called from his perch in the crow's next.

Her ship was moving faster than ever towards them. All they could do was wait, anchored and helpless. Jack carefully stowed the glass back in his shirt and drew his sword. The rest of the crew did the same, many running below deck to ready the cannons. There would be no peaceful boarding this time. Morgan knew they had wronged her, and would do all she could to blow them out of the water. As her magnificent ship drew nearer, aiming to parallel the Pearl, Hector, Margaret, Jack, and Rita, all stood beside each other, poised for battle.

"Never thought I'd be willing to die for a bit of treasure," Margaret muttered.

"She'd have it out for ye anyway, seein' as you stole the damn thing in the first place," Hector said. "Consider it being willin' to die for your life."

"Maybe it won't come to that," Jack said. He had his lips pursed, as though he had another trick up his sleeve.

"FIRE!" The yell could be heard even across the water that separated them, and the canon from Morgan's great ship seemed to launch in slow motion towards them. It skinned the edge of the Pearl's stern, knocking off a few chunks of wood.

"FIRE!" Jack screamed to his own crew.

It was too soon that Morgan's men attempted to board. They swung over, swords at the ready, and leapt at the crew. There were enough of them that the ship was immediately full of one-on-one fights. Margaret and Rita went back to back, facing off with two sneering pirates who had matching tattoos of octopi under their ears.

Jack was noticeably distracted. He almost let his adversary, a short, angry pirate, get a few good swipes in as he looked around hastily.

"Looking for me, Sparrow?" The unmistakable voice of Captain Morgan came from behind him. She had just landed on the upper deck, her blade aimed for Jack's back.

He turned and smiled at her.

"Yes, in fact! I have something to tell you," He said. With great drama, he threw his sword to the ground and raised both hands. "We surrender."

The news traveled gradually across the boat, most unwilling to believe it at first. Morgan herself was surprised.

"Interesting move," She said quietly. "But I'll bite. Take them," she ordered her men.

Baffled, Margaret and Rita allowed themselves to lay their weapons down. They were led into a huddle with the rest of the crew, Morgan's men surrounding them in a human prison. Jack was thrown roughly beside them, and could only offer up a shrug when Rita looked at him questioningly. Morgan walked slowly around them, surveying each one.

"You must have known I wouldn't be taking prisoners, Jack," She said. She nodded to one of her men, and without hesitation he shoved his blade deep in the belly of one of the Pearl's crew. "I only need one of you alive to tell me where my spyglass is."

"Aye. So, you know we're already here, then?" Jack said.

"Of course, idiot, why do you think I allowed you to live this long? I also know that one can only _see_ the place where it's hidden with that glass, so how about this: Every time I count to three, and don't have it in my hands, one of your men dies. One…two…

"I don't have it."

"Three."

A guttural yelp from another victim, and a loud thud as he crashed to the floor. Hector looked furiously at Jack, but didn't breathe a word. He had just allowed two men to be slaughtered and didn't show the faintest sign of remorse.

"You don't honestly expect me to believe you've come all this way without it. One…two…"

"We lost it. Didn't need it."

"Three. No, hold on a second."

Morgan had come to stand in front of Margarget, who had been doing her best to hide among the men, but with no luck. Morgan grabbed her face in one hand, tilting her chin up to examine her. She looked from her to Rita.

"The girl from the bar. Oh, haven't I been a fool," She murmured. "Bind the women and bring them to the side."

Margaret and Rita were thrust out of the group, gagged and hands tied.

"You two have some nerve. I'd be impressed, if I wasn't ready to kill you. Now, who's first? Smyth, was it? It was nice meeting you."

She snapped her fingers at one of her men, who lifted Margaret into the air. He was about to hoist her over the side when Jack spoke up.

"You really don't want to be doing that."

Rolling her eyes, Morgan held up a hand to stop the process.

"Why? Does she have my glass?"

"No, love," Jack said smugly. "She _is_ your glass."

He stepped out of the group and began a pace, Morgan's men reluctantly allowing him to do so at her beckoning.

"See, that thing was cursed, and that girl you're about to throw over on the receiving end of it. She not only knows Circe's directions by heart, but she can see where it is. So, I'd say you need her alive."

Morgan pondered this for a moment, but seemed to agree.

"The other one, then," she said softly, and Rita, too, as lifted up. Unable to speak, she protested against the gag in her mouth with all her strength, Margaret doing the same beside her.

"That's no good, she wouldn't tell you anything if you kill her best mate," said Jack calmly, though he had to be thinking quickly.

"Fine," Morgan sighed. "What are your conditions, Miss?"

"For starters—" Jack began.

"I asked the lady.

Margaret's gag was ripped from her mouth.

"You let the crew live," She breathed heavily. "You let us all live. And I'll lead you there."

Morgan nodded and smiled dryly. With another hand gesture, she ordered Jack tied up as well. In the scuffle, Jack was roughly shaken and much to his misfortune, the spyglass rolled out of his sleeve and onto the deck. Everyone stared at it, the crew looking mutinous.

"Well, now," said Morgan. "That changes things."

The boat erupted into chaos. Everyone dove at once for the spyglass, forcing it to roll further away. Swords were drawn once more. Rita managed to kick the man holding her hard enough that he dropped her to the ground. Margaret, however, was still caught in the pirate's arms. Her hands were still bound, but she was trying desprately to bite him.

"Throw her in!" Morgan yelled.

Margaret was tossed with ease overboard into the sea below.

"NO!" Rita had gotten loose of her gag, but couldn't get to standing quick enough. As it turned out, she didn't have to. In an instant, someone else had dove off the rails after her. It was Hector.

Margaret was sinking fast, but he was faster. He shot down to where she was kicking underwater with all her might. With one arm, he scooped her up and with the other he pulled at the water until they reached the surface. Coughing and sputtering, Margaret looked at him as he cut through her binds as quickly as he could so they could both swim back to the ship.

"You took off your hat to save me," She wheezed, trying to grin.

"Aye," He said, allowing himself to smile. "I suppose I'd do just about anything for ye."

Her heart skipping a beat, she swiftly pecked him on the cheek before swimming back towards the mayhem.

The two made it back aboard just in time. Jack had once again acquired the spyglass and as four men lunged at him, he chucked it hard off the ship's edge. It landed with a plop many yards into the ocean. The fighting ceased immediately, and Morgan looked murderous.

"So," Jack said. "Let's talk about those conditions you mentioned."


	8. The Witch's Lair

By some miracle, Jack, Hector, Margaret, and Rita found themselves being led off the ship and onto a boat set for Circe's beach. They were prisoners, of course, but the island was so small that Margaret had told Morgan she could only bring four of her men. She had also insisted upon bringing the others for her own protection, much to Morgan's chagrin, and if they hadn't been forced to leave their weapons on board, they might've been an even match.

Margaret acted as their compass, directing them as best she could to the little slab of land. To her, it didn't look like much at all and she feared their arrival would be met with wrathful disappointment from Captain Morgan. She saw no chest, nor even a palm or fern. Just a blank mound of sand. Nonetheless, she led on all the way until the boat slid onto the bank. She looked around at the others, who now could suddenly see what she was seeing.

"We're here," she mumbled.

Morgan stood up first and hopped off the boat onto the sand. She stomped around in a circle, listening for any sounds below. When at last she heard what she wanted, she knelt to the ground and began to dig. Everyone simply remained in the boat, watching. After a few minutes, Morgan hit wood. It was a cellar hatch. Opening it, she turned back to the group.

"What are you all waiting for? Down we go."

"That's impossible," Rita said under her breath. "The land here isn't deep enough to hold anything underneath."

"Aye, but the ocean below is," Jack said, stepping out. "We're dealing with a witch, remember."

They all gathered around the square hatch in the middle of the isle. They could see nothing but darkness, and felt a cold stream of air pour out. All eyes turned to Morgan, who, after some deliberation, pulled out her pistol and pointed it at Margaret's head.

"Women and children first," She drawled. "Give us a shout if you survive."

Hector started forward, opening his mouth to protest, but was stopped by a warning look from Margaret. Sitting down, she swung her feet over the hole. She still couldn't see a thing, but felt a wooden ladder bolted to the side. With a brave-faced shrug at her friends, she descended into the abyss. A minute went by with no sound. Just as Rita was about to dive in to the rescue, they heard her.

"I'm here!" Margaret's voice was distant, as though a mile below the surface.

The rest soon followed. Halfway down, a greenish light filled their senses and allowed for a small field of vision. Morgan reached the bottom first.

"Where'd you go, girlie?" She called.

"Over here."

Margaret was standing in a small room—the only room, in fact—and was staring, mesmerized, at what it contained. Morgan, too, stepped beside her, transfixed. Inside was not at all what they had anticipated. Rows of shelves lined the grimy walls, overflowing with jars of bindingly bright colored liquids and stones. Maps and books littered every surface available around the room, densely hiding the tables. There were drawers hanging open, leaking trinkets. Cages lying empty and open. Paintings hanging slanted. And ominously in the center of the room, a large hourglass that looked like it had just begun to drain.

Morgan's men were not as impressed with what they saw.

"I don't see no treasure," One said

"This _is_ the treasure, boys," Morgan responded excitedly. "Circe's workshop. All of her knowledge and power in one room, and it's ours. We'll be like Gods!"

She ran to the shelves and began to run her fingers along each container, deciding which to examine first. Before she did, she looked over her shoulder at her men.

"Oh, and we won't be needing _them_ anymore," She jerked her head in the direction of Margaret, Rita, Hector, and Jack, who were all standing as unobtrusively as possible in the corner.

Before anyone could move, however, a great rumbling shook the room so vigorously that all of them toppled to the ground.

"What the bloody hell was that?" said one of Morgan's men as he steadied himself against the wall.

"I have a faint idea," Jack said darkly. He rushed to stare up at entrance. There was no doubt it had gotten farther away. He ran back to the group. "Yup, just as I thought. We're sinking."

" _Below Poseidon,"_ Margaret muttered. She looked at the hourglass. "I suspect we have until the last grain falls until it descends underneath the sea again."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Morgan said maliciously. "Kill them."

"That wasn't the deal!"

They had to dodge quickly as the four men thrust their swords through the air, aiming to puncture any inch of them they could reach. Rita flipped the table over just in time, as one man jabbed his blade through the wood. Jack leapt over the side and pulled the sword out before the man could get his bearings.

"Thanks," he said, and leapt into a duel against the three who remained armed.

Another quake rattled them, but Morgan and Jack had managed to stay standing. She had just finished filling a chest to the brim with potions, and was starting another when Jack was able to get close enough to kick the chest over to Rita. Hector was fighting with the weaponless pirate with his bare hands, getting in a few good swings before his fist made a deafening blow to the side of his head, knocking the man unconscious. Jack, meanwhile, was still holding off two blades with his one, and was doing a fair job of holding them back until—

"Enough!"

Morgan's voice echoed across the room, which shook once more. The hourglass was now almost halfway empty, but everyone froze. There she stood, gun cocked and pressed against the skull of an irritated Barbossa, who had begrudgingly put his hands up. Morgan was behind him, an angle from which he could hardly escape.

"Drop it, or your first mate here goes on a one way trip to Davy Jones' locker."

Jack lowered, his sword, but did not relinquish it. He was watching something going on behind Morgan. By the time she looked noticed and around, it was too late.

During the commotion, Margaret had snuck along the wall to get closer to the lines of potions. There were many to choose from, and many unlabeled, but when Morgan raised her gun to Hector, she couldn't think twice. She snatched a bottle of murky black liquid, unstopped it, and tossed the contents with immense force onto Morgan.

Before she could realize what was happening, Morgan had fallen to the ground, writhing in pain. All anyone could do was stand back and watch. Black ooze seeped from her eyes and mouth, and her skin became ashy as it peeled. She made a horrible garbled hiss, reaching up with one hand and looking directly and Margaret, who was pressed against the wall clutching the bottle so tightly her knuckles were white. There was still a fair amount of liquid, sloshing eagerly inside. The hand fell back to the floor and twitched. Morgan curled on the floor, resembling a creature from hell. In another moment, she moved no more.

Again, there was a loud shake, accompanied this time by the sounds of cracking and breaking, stunting the silence that had fallen. Everyone looked to the hour glass, which was almost run out.

"That's our cue to leave," Jack said, running over to a petrified Margaret and leading her towards the exit. He gently pried the bottle from her hands, corked it once more, and left it on a table. "Everyone who wants to live, up we go!"

"What about the treasure?" One of Morgan's Pirates, a short fellow with a long beard, asked.

"If ye think it's worth yer life, stay a while,"' Hector said, taking one last longing look around the room. "But I think it's clear we be tampering with sorcery beyond our comprehension."

"And Morgan?"

"If she's not dead yet, she's at least beyond your help now," Jack said, stuffing a few maps into his sleeve before he also started up the ladder.

Everyone raced up to the square of sunlight that awaited them. Margaret was the first to reach the top, and when she did she stumbled and sank into the sand, still in shock. Rita came up next, the sun more blinding than she'd ever known it to be, as though she'd just returned from a dream. She sat beside her friend, not saying a word. The others immediately followed, and when the last man was on the ground, the hatch sealed itself and disappeared beneath the sand without a trace.

"So…does that mean we can't ever get back here?" The bearded pirate wondered aloud.

"Not sure," Jack said, panting slightly. "I think it just means the workshop is only accessible from land for a certain amount of time when one arrives. Smart, that woman. Evil, though, too, I suspect."

"Our crew isn't goin' to like us comin' back empty handed," said a larger pirate.

"Nor is ours," Jack said. He stood up and stretched. "We can't tell them what we saw down there. Not anyone."

Everyone looked at him.

"And why not?"

"You saw what one of those bleeding potions did to your dear captain! If word gets out a place like this exists, there'd be hell on Earth. Everyone would want a bit of her magic, but none would know how to wield it. So. We tell our crews we found nothing down there, and Morgan was shot by that vengeful girl over there. Savvy?"

The lot thought this over for a minute, but seemed to agree that it was the best course of action. If there was something any pirate could understand, it was that keeping treasure a secret meant more for them. Even Hector, who had been watching Jack with a vexed and weary look in his eye, did not argue. They began to board the boat slowly, as if they still hadn't quite processed what they'd seen. The men were casually determining their next steps, now that they were proceeding without their captain, and Jack was showing Rita his maps.

Margaret stayed put in the sand for as long as she could. Hector approached her with a sigh, and held out his hand to lift her to her feet. She resigned to being pulled up, but continued to stare off into the distance like she was hypnotized.

"Yer alright, lass." It was not a question. Margaret bit down hard on her lip, bringing feeling back into her numb features

"I killed her in cold blood. No, I didn't _just_ do that. I made her suffer. And for a horrible moment," She swallowed. "I enjoyed it. I was damn pleased with myself."

"Can't blame ye," He replied with a light smile. It wasn't the right thing to say, and she turned away from him to hide her face.

Hector suddenly pulled her into his chest and held her with such sincerity that in that moment she could have almost forgotten all of her sorrow. His hands were strong against her back, and she felt like she was floating. He pressed his lips to her ear.

"Ye saved me," He whispered. Margaret could hear the familiar gentle smirk in his tone as she lifted her head up to look at him.

"Well," she said quietly. "I suppose I'd do just about anything for you."

And she was kissing him, and it burned where they touched, but with a fire that brought her to life. Had the boat not been waiting for them, she would have stayed that way forever, locked in a moment in time when the world didn't seem so bad.


	9. Goodbye but not Farewell

Five days later, Margaret awoke to the sound of gulls outside her open window. It was a sound she'd begun to miss while deep at sea, but now that she was back on solid ground she instantly regretted the feeling. It was just dawn, and the shape of a sleeping Hector was tranquil beside her in the small bed. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out of the sheets and moved to close the window, wearing only her robe that she picked up off the floor. She paused, letting the breeze from the water below brush her skin. This place had once felt like home to her, but now she was jaded and could only think of the business that lay ahead. She had missed the rocky coast, and the way it was hidden from the rest of the world. Smuggler's Cove had once been a sanctuary to her. But she was older now, and it only reminded her of her desperation to survive. Rita, on the other hand, had been giddy about returning, showing Jack every crevice she used to play in. It had been nice to watch her so free. And, of course, it had been nice of the guild to provide lodgings for the night.

They'd arrived the previous afternoon, after a long, arduous trek on the Pearl. After returning fruitless, both crews had met them fairly unceremoniously. Morgan's first mate, who turned out to be one of the pirates present for the escapade, had agreed to part ways with no further quarrel. A small success, but greater misfortunes were kept in mind, and showed in the bleak mood that overtook the Pearl. They still had Margaret and Rita to grant them access to the cove where their guild resided, concealed.

However, it was clear that many had not forgiven their captain for his choices regarding Circe's treasure. Jack had made a number of foolish blunders on the way, but remained too proud to admit to them. Rita and Margaret had overheard Hector confronting him the evening of the ordeal.

"What were ye thinking surrenderin' in the first place without a plan?" He'd chided.

"I had a feeling things would work themselves out. Sometimes a captain must think on his feet," Jack replied.

"Aye, and sometimes he must think about the greater good."

"We're alive, aren't we? Most of us…" Jack had sounded deeply contrite for the first time. "I trust my instincts, and more often than not I get us out of any mess."

"Trust can't come easy for the rest of us when yer instincts make the mess in the first place."

The Captain and his first mate were colder to one another in the days that followed. The spirits of the crew were only lifted when at last they reached the beautiful cove, just off of the island of Devil's Anvil. It was indeed a sight to behold. Imbedded in rock was an abandoned fortress, one that had been built almost to completion by British settlers, who had ultimately decided the terrain was too treacherous for habitation. The smuggler guild of Chlamys had occupied the small half-ring of beach and cliffs for decades, transforming it into a compact community.

A scout had rowed out to meet them before they anchored, to determine whether or not they were to be shot out of the water by the row of battlements that lined the rocks. Margaret did all the talking, and before they knew it the crew was all brought ashore. Immediately, they were given an audience with the commander, a sharp woman names Esperanza, who had been in charge since both Margaret and Rita were first initiated.

"What do you mean by bringing them to me?" She'd spat in lieu of a greeting to Margaret and Rita.

"Upholding our end of a deal," Margaret replied.

"We don't _deal_ with pirates," Esperanza hissed. "You know this. And as if you two are not in enough trouble, already. Killington never received his cargo. We sent two men out looking for you, hear nothing for weeks, and now you stand here with a request on behalf of miscreants?"

"We were attacked en route," Rita piped up. "By the pirate Captain Morgan. She took everything. She would have had away with us, too, but the crew of the Black Pearl rescued us. In exchange, all they wanted was information about an item that came through here."

Margaret did her best to hide her surprise at how easily Rita could bend the truth. Esperanza's anger was beginning to subside, as signified by a slight eye roll, but she did not drop her guard all at once.

"How noble. I suppose I should be grateful you brought my girls back to me in one piece," She said, turning to address the pirates. "Many things come and go from the cove. I can assure you any treasure will have already passed through or been distributed to our vaults. What is it you're expecting to find, exactly?"

"Not treasure, per say, your Smuggler-ness," Jack said, stepping forward with a small bow. "I'd received word that a page from the diary of Hernán Cortés was intercepted by one of your own. It was my understanding that it was brought here, and added to your collection, as it could not be profited from."

"No. We kept it as an historical artifact, but it was one of many things in that haul that could not be instantly sold or bargained for," Esperanza said, looking intrigued. "That is, until now, apparently. What use do you have for a piece of scrap paper?"

"All due respect, Miss, I believe that's my business."

She gave him a cold, appraising look.

"Very well. What do you have to trade for it?"

"I thought you said it was worthless to you?" Jack frowned.

"Yes, but clearly not to you. What are you offering?"

Jack sighed. He'd been prepared for this, but it was always disappointing to be cheated. From his sleeve he pulled out several scrolls and threw them down in front of Esperanza.

"Maps made by the sea witch Circe herself. Collected right from her workshop, and your two friends there can back me up on the tale."

Esperanza gave Margaret and Rita a side glance, to which they both nodded enthusiastically.

"Examined them all meself," Jack continued. "And all of 'em have loads of places otherwise uncharted on most other atlases you'd find. You could use them to expand your business, I reckon."

"They're invaluable, Esperanza," Rita chimed in. She'd been amazed at how willing Jack was to throw away his collection, and it was just then that she realized how much his mission to Isla De Muerta meant.

"Then this page must be truly worth something, too," Esperanza murmured, seeming to think along the same lines. She ran her hands over the maps, eyes glowing with every scrawl she read. "Should I be rethinking this deal?"

It did not sound like a hypothetical question.

"Not that I'm not biased," Margaret answered. "But believe me when I say that you'll be wanting these maps in your collection."

After another moment's hesitation, Esperanza called over a boy who'd been standing in the corner, a loop of keys hanging from his pants. The loop was so full that it looked like his pants might fall with every step.

"Edmund," Esperanza said. "Fetch me Cortez's journal entry from the library. And tell the chefs to start dinner for our guests.

Now, as Margaret watched the sun poke its rays out from behind the horizon, she wished she had relished the night for longer. After the awkward dinner, she had found herself alone in a tiny bedroom, unable to shut her eyes. Without thinking, she had thrust her door open and raced down the hall in her bare feet, not stopping until she appeared in front of Hector's door. She didn't even have to knock, which she was grateful for. He had pulled her in without a word, and there in his arms she remained through the night. But it had gone too fast. Even though she didn't sleep, time seemed to slip away faster in the dark.

Sighing shakily, Margaret looked back longingly at the bed. She crept over, timidly resuming her position next to him. She brushed his cheek lightly with the back of her hand. Though not quite awake, Hector took it and ran his lips along her fingers and up her arm. She couldn't help but suck in a breath that brought him into consciousness. He opened his eyes and continued to kiss every part of her he could reach, on her neck and through to the base of her jaw.

"Stop that," she whispered, trying not to gasp. "It's daylight, now. Someone might hear."

"Ye think I care?" Hector muttered. "I'm too old to be modest."

Margaret laughed quietly, looking into his murky eyes that were not yet clear of sleep.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

This made him stop. He sat upright, cupping her chin in one hand.

"No, that's _yer_ job, isn't it?"

"Traditionally, I suppose."

There was a long pause, filled with a sigh from each of them. Margaret suddenly hopped off the bed and over to the coatrack in the corner of the room.

"Perhaps I just need something to remember you by," She teased. "The hat?"

She took Hector's hat from the rack and placed it on her head. It was much too big for her, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"I'll be needin' the hat, I'm afraid."

"Couldn't you just buy a new one when you find Cortez's treasure?"

A grim look suddenly crossed Hector's face. He had been aloof all night after Jack had acquired the page from the journal. Jack had seemed pleased enough, alerting the men that they were closer than ever to finding their long-awaited prize, but Hector had grown increasingly doubtful of his captain's capabilities. Only he and Jack had seen the page, and while he had told Margaret it was just what they needed, she'd read apprehension in his eyes.

"If the Captain can get us there in one piece," He grumbled, sliding out of bed and into his coat.

"You don't trust him anymore."

"The boy's had us going on little more than his word for ages, and now just a scrap of parchment. I'm not sure there's many of us left who _do_ trust him."

"But you believe you can find it?"

Hector considered this for a moment.

"I do. Always have. Just not sure Jack's the man to lead us to it. He's young. Brash." He looked over at Margaret, still standing in his hat, and his grimace turned into a chuckle. "Though I suppose that's not always a bad thing. You wear it well."

Margaret fell silent, unsure how to respond with anything but a delicate smile. She had come to like Jack, though she shared Hector's view on his devil-may-care behavior. He had proven himself to be wild and fickle, but lucky, qualities she admired overall. What's more is she could tell Hector cared for his captain, though he would never let on. Yet she also knew he'd do whatever it took to see the quest through to the end. She decided to say nothing. It wasn't her place to meddle in the pirates' affairs, and if there was one thing she always knew, it was her place. Even if she rarely stayed within it.

Hector had finished putting on his boots in no time.

"The hat, if ye don't mind," He held out his hand towards Margaret. She remained rooted to the spot.

"I don't think I want you to go."

"I don't think I want ye to stay."

They stared at each other across the room for a wistful moment before Margaret ran at him, leaping into his grasp. He swung her around once, kissed her, and placed her down. She could still feel the points on her cheek where his beard tickled her.

"I actually do have something ye can remember me by," Hector said, struck by a thought. He reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out the ruby he'd collected from the first night they'd met.

"The little red star," Margaret laughed. "You've kept it on your person all this time?"

"It's a fine gem," He pressed it into her hand. "Take it. Consider it an insurance. I'll come back for it someday,"

Margaret smiled and held it against her heart. It felt warm, and she knew that she'd keep it safe. Below, they heard sounds from the dock getting louder, indicating that the rest of the crew was up and preparing to return to the ship. With a last agonizing look at the room and at each other, they took the slowest route down to the water.

Rita and Jack were already there. Esperanza had even come down to bid farewell, but Margaret suspected she was there to make sure she and Rita didn't board with them at the last second. After the pirates had been fed the night before, she had called the girls in to discuss their actions. She had forgiven them for their transport going south, but made the decision to relocate them to a new territory. Rita had been furious at first, as they had moved their base several times over the last year. Margaret didn't mind, however. She was happy that they weren't being forced to stay and work from the cove, where she'd already spent too much of her childhood.

Hector approached Jack, who gave him a gruff pat on the shoulder as a greeting. As the crew boarded, some nodded their goodbyes to Margaret and Rita, others were friendlier, and some just walked by without a second glance. One boat was already on its way back to the Pearl, who looked majestic against the lustrous morning sky, and the other was almost full. Jack and Hector were the last two to get on. They faced the girls with deep respect swimming in their half-smiles. Jack took off his hat and placed it over his heart.

"Ladies, it's been a genuine pleasure. If our paths are to cross again, I should hope it will be as friends," He said theatrically.

"The Caribbean's not so big," Rita said, smiling. "Nor is the world. We'll meet again."

Margaret looked at Hector and saw the same hope she felt, reflected in his gaze.

"Until then, then," Jack said with a wink as he turned. "When we'll be rich as thieves! Smart thieves, that is. This isn't the last you've heard of Captain Jack Sparrow."

They joined their remaining crew, waiting patiently on the rowboat, and set off. Margaret and Rita watched until their boat became a speck beside the black sails in the distance. Esperanza came up behind them and put a hand on each shoulder.

"Don't even think about becoming pirates, girls," She said gruffly. "You're too good for that."

As they walked back up to the fortress in silence, Margaret caught Rita's eye and grinned. She knew there were more adventures ahead of them, and none that they could ever be too good for.

 **End of Part I**


	10. Some Things Change

**A/N: Thanks for reading this far! There's a bit of a time jump here when the actual story gets going, since (spoilers) Carina was born right after the events of At World's End, according to math and the internet. POTC timelines are weird, though, so I tried to leave it a little vague. Anyway, enjoy this next part!**

 **PART II**

 **THE PRESENT**

"You were right, you know," Rita added, after she had finished going over the exhausting details of their first adventure. The bar had quieted some, but she and Jack were becoming rowdier by the minute, a collection of empty bottles and pints beginning to crowd the table. "We heard a lot about Captain Jack Sparrow in the years after."

"Aye, I bet," Jack muttered. "Though I had hoped it would be under better circumstances."

"Surviving a marooning was nothing to scoff at," Rita said, taking another swig from her bottle. "Though you were in a right state when we saw you again. Hell-bent on revenge, and planning to take back your ship. Margaret thought you'd gone mad."

"I admit, I was glad to run into familiar faces after getting off that godforsaken island. Not a friendly trade, piracy. Ten years until I saw old Hector again, and it was not a pretty reunion."

"Sounds like you worked it out, though. God, the rumors we heard. Returning from the dead, fighting Davy Jones himself, breaking curses. And ending that monster Beckett's regime...To think it all turned out to be true. You two were a force to be trifled with."

Jack smiled, remembering fondly.

"I'm glad you got my letters. Wasn't sure they'd reached you."

"Did you ever tell him? About Morgan's men?" Rita asked suddenly. Jack looked up, pretending at first not to understand what she meant.

The news that all of Morgan's crew had been captured and hung after sailing into Port Royal had reached the girls not long after they parted ways with the Pearl. Years later, when they ran into Jack in the Tortuga marketplace, they had told him that they were the only ones left who knew where to find Circe's magic. There and then they made a pact to keep it secret, but should one ever need its power they would return together. Hector had no idea it was just the four of them that remained as the secret keepers.

"No. I didn't. Didn't seem worth mentioning, as I doubt he would ever betray that information. Did _you_?" Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Who says I ever saw Hector Barbossa again?"

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"When I last saw you two girls, it was ages ago. She hadn't heard a thing from him," Jack began.

"I know, you were disappointed. You'd hoped she would tell you where he was."

"Did she ever marry?"

Rita looked quizzically at Jack. She could sense it was a loaded question.

"No," She said. "Margaret would hardly have taken a husband she didn't love. And she was nearing spinsterhood towards the end."

" _Spinsterhood?_ At what, twenty-seven?"

"A woman's life, Jack," Rita smiled darkly. "I didn't think she would ever care for someone as much as she cared for your fiend of a first-mate."

"They did meet again, though, didn't they." Rita noticed Jack was watching her carefully as he edged nearer to his actual question.

"Yes, they did," Rita said slowly, furrowing her brow in suspicion as she took another sip. "Why do you ask?"

"Timing," Jack said, leaning back. "Their daughter's a young woman now, so that puts them together roughly around—"

Rita spat out her drink. Jack laughed at her, having been eagerly awaiting the moment all night.

"How the _hell_ do you know? He told you?"

"God, no, d'you think Hector would ever share anything personal with me?" Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. "I met her."

Rita bit the inside of her cheek as she mulled this over. The form of a tiny baby popped into her head, cooing and innocent.

"Carina," she said quietly. "How…how is she?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Real looker. Not good at keeping out of trouble, not unlike her mum. Met her at a, um, joint-hanging, in fact. But, she's alive!" He added as a look of horror crossed Rita's face.

"You met Margaret Smyth's child," She repeated quietly.

"Aye. And I'm honestly very curious as to what her story is. I mean, how did she even…begin?"

Rita tried to steady her breathing, looking down at her hands on the table. It wasn't a time she liked to remember, but then again she never thought she'd be asked to recall it. Inhaling sharply, she pushed aside her bottle.

"Well, as you said, Barbossa was little more than a ghost story while he was cursed. It wasn't until after the two of you took down Beckett that we saw him again. Captain of the Black Pearl once more, and a changed man, who happened to be in need of a couple of skilled rum-runners…"

* * *

 **YEARS AGO**

It was too quiet a day on the west coast of St. Kitts Island. Usually by the time Rita was out to pull the clothes off the line, the streets were crowded and full of obnoxious cacophony. Today, however, the people of the village had made themselves sparse. The sky was gray, a color they had not seen cast over the cheerful island in some time, and Rita sensed a storm brewing. Resisting the urge to kick her laundry basket in frustration, she hurriedly collected the linens and ran back inside the house. Rain was bad for business, and she and Margaret hadn't seen business in weeks.

Of all the places they'd lived, their home on St. Kitts was by far their favorite. They had a small, two story place in the center of town, and from their bedroom windows they could clearly see the beaches and green sea. Their profits over the years had allowed them a higher quality of living, and they were one of the most desired smuggling crew in all the Leeward Islands. Yet being at the top of their game did not come without a price. They'd had to move frequently, and take up a different crew every time they had a long quest. Gone were the days when Margaret and Rita could uphold a simple, two-woman operation. Margaret had become something of a fearless leader, ordering and organizing their crew with a passion, while Rita advised her. When they weren't off on a transport, they were bartering from on land and living peacefully together.

Today was one of those days. The crew they'd picked up since arriving on the island was off on a scavenging mission while the two women awaited leads on a job. Though she ought to have been relaxing, Rita felt anxious whenever she was left behind. Margaret felt the same, though she never dared show it. Being the faces of the business meant far more responsibility than either of them was used to. Rita walked into the kitchen, where she found Margaret starting dinner. She looked almost like a housewife in her apron, a fashion that was not meant for her.

"Edmund come back yet?" Margaret asked as she heard Rita enter. She was staring intensely at the boiling water in front of her, as if trying to turn it into rum with her mind.

"Not yet," Rita said. She began to fold the laundry. It felt very dull. "Better hurry though, looks like rain."

"Damn. The crew better not get themselves sunk, not sure we can afford another one."

"Mm. They'll be fine, the wreck wasn't too far from here." Though couriers by trade, they never could resist picking off any leftover valuables whenever word of an abandoned ship would reach them.

They worked in silence for a bit, lulled into monotony. Margaret looked out the window. A young man was running down the road towards the house, a slip of paper in his hand and a satchel slung over his shoulder.

"Would you look at that," Margaret smiled. "The boy's got something for us."

Edmund had been sent to work for the women about a year ago, as a present from Esperanza. He'd worked as their messenger and squire since then, arranging their meetings and running errands. Though he was no longer a boy, Margaret and Rita continuously teased his naivety and praised his childish enthusiasm. He'd become more or less like a little brother.

He rushed into the kitchen, panting as though he had run all the way across the island. Unable to catch his breath, he tossed the little paper onto the table with a look of pride between gasps.

"Well don't spill it all at once, Ed," Rita mocked.

"You didn't go waving that thing around town, did you? After all this time, you're still a terrible sneak," Margaret said, snatching up the parchment.

Edmund shot her a resentful look.

"I did not. I was just in a hurry. A storm's coming, and I got held up buying the vegetables because they were out of cucumber, so I had to run to Teagan's farm stand, which is all the way—" For someone who was out of breath moments ago, he had no trouble using it all to ramble.

"Spare us the particulars, would you?" laughed Margaret. She looked down at the note. "A rum-run to Tortuga. Long journey, but should pay well enough. Where'd you get the hook-up?"

"The buyers left the lead with Fisherman John. Said they were an odd sort, wealthy looking but secretive. He suspected thieves."

"Sounds like our kind of people," Rita said. "When do they want to meet?"

"Midnight at the Barnacle Tavern," Margaret read. "I hope they pay up front…"

Hours later, the women set out into the darkness. Edmund had insisted on joining them, but agreed to keep his mouth shut while the deal was made. Secure under their dark cloaks, they moved stealthily through the town. This was always less for their sake than for their clients, who were better off not being seen in public with the three. The tavern was the most populated joint at that time of night, so Rita, Margaret, and Edmund entered unobtrusively. There was no way to seek out their mystery buyers; it was up to them to approach first.

"There, an empty table," Rita said, pointing through the crowd. "We can dock there and—Margaret, what's wrong?"

Margaret was wearing an expression that looked like she'd just swallowed a lemon. She was at a loss for words, staring at something in uneasy astonishment. Following her gaze to a nearby table, Rita could see, sitting in plain sight, a familiar bearded face. A Capuchin monkey paced along the surface of the table, poking its head in an empty chalice.

"So," Hector Barbossa called out, grinning wickedly at them. "I see ye received my offer."


	11. Surprise

Rita was sure it was going to take Margaret a minute to recover from the shock of seeing him again. She hadn't so much as uttered his name in the many years since they last saw him, but Rita knew her friend had grieved when they parted. Only whispers of his legacy had reached them, through the mouths of the pirates they crossed paths with in each new town, and Margaret was stone-faced with every update. Barbossa was like a phantom in her life, someone she'd become sure she'd never see again, and yet reminders of his existence kept him from ever leaving her mind entirely.

Over time, Margaret had received her fair share of suitors, but had taken none. She stood by her opposition of marriage, stating that it would be a shame to settle down while she was proving how powerful a woman alone could be. Rita believed that was true, but couldn't help wonder if she also was stubbornly holding on to feelings for her old lover.

It was because of this that she was surprised when Margaret boldly took the empty seat facing Hector, and regarded him as if he were a casual acquaintance.

"Well, if it isn't Barbossa," She said, returning the sly smile. "What are you doing so far down the Caribbean?"

"Actually, it's _Captain_ , now," Hector said carefully. He too, had been expecting a stronger reaction, but did not let it sway him.

"Hard to keep track, these days."

Hector chuckled, as did a few of the men sitting around him. They hadn't realized before, but many of the occupants in the tavern must have been his new crew. The monkey bared his teeth at the girls, and Hector ran a finger along his head and murmured, "Easy there, Jack."

Edmund had become more uncomfortable by the minute.

"You're…you're he pirate!" He blurted. "The one everyone's been talking about, who captained the ship of the damned and faced Davy Jones himself. The one who defeated Lord Beckett's armada!"

"Shut it, Ed," Rita snapped.

"Tales from the sea reach land at a slow pace," said Hector, drinking deeply from a fresh cup he'd snatched from the pirate next to him. "That was months ago. But it's good to know I'm not yet forgotten."

"Enough," Margaret spoke quietly but sharply. All attention turned back to her. "You've got a job for us? Or are you only interested in boasting?"

Hector looked at her, trying desperately to meet her eyes. All he saw was a hardened glare that, even after the many years apart, he remembered meant business. The men closest to him had tensed, but he raised a hand to settle them.

"Aye. I'm here to hire ye, alright, but perhaps first a round of drinks among old friends would do…"

"'Fraid I'm not too thirsty. How about you tell us now?" Margaret leaned in. "Your note said you wanted us to pick up a shipment of rum from Tortuga for you. That all?"

"It's…it's a bit more complicated than that, see," Hector shifted in his seat, preparing for his pitch.

"We don't mind complicated," Rita said coolly.

"No, I should think not," Hector grinned up at her. "Here's the state of things. It's a matter of completing some …unfinished business. I was robbed of some precious antiquities after losin' the Pearl. A young captain by the name o' Regis found a stash I'd hidden, and looted every damn piece. Fool didn't know who he was taking from, and lucky for us he still doesn't. All I want is to take back what's rightfully mine. Now that I've got me ship back, I need to see to restoring me fortune."

"What does that have to do with rum?" Edmund asked.

"Ed, hush," Rita rolled her eyes. "But he's right, what do you need _our_ help for? Can't you just go after this man yourself, pirate on pirate?"

"Ah, I could," Hector said. "But me forces are weak, and sending the crew on a wild goose chase would hardly be worth the costs. I knew stealth would be the only way. See, Regis isn't just any captain, he's also black market dealer, not unlike yerselves. Christopher Regis, heard of 'im?"

Margaret nodded.

"Never met him myself, but if I'm not mistaken he works primarily in transporting illegal libations?" She said, raising her eyebrows.

"That he does," Hector sighed. "That's where you come in. We'd need ye to make contact with him, say ye've been hired to pick up an order. He'll know of ye. Trust ye. Then, ye'd sail with us over to Tortuga, where he keeps his vault, to finish the deal. We break into his stash, I get me treasures, and meanwhile ye get the goods for another job. Everyone goes home happy. And ye'd be paid more'n fair for yer troubles, of course."

"So, you'd be using us to land a fake deal, just to distract him while get your stuff back?" Rita rephrased.

"That'd be the idea."

Rita looked at Margaret, who was mulling it over. It was almost demeaning, the thought of their esteemed opertation being used as a mere cover story for thievery. Not to mention, it seemed like too complex a plot for a little long lost treasure. However, even with the risks involved they couldn't just say no to their first job in weeks. And they had so missed being on the ocean…

"It'd be a straightforward operation. Week, at most, once we get started," Hector said, leaning back in his chair. "We'll be stayin' here for a bit, to wait out the storm. Give ye time to decide."

"Would you pay upfront?" Margaret asked suddenly.

"As would any man of honor."

"We're in."

Rita and Edmund dropped their jaws and began to protest, but Margaret took her lead from Hector and held up a hand to quiet them.

"We'll need a week to set up the deal with Regis. Shouldn't be too hard, we have a mutual connection. Then my crew and I will personally accompany you to Tortuga to do our parts."

She held out her hand. With slight trepidation, Hector shook it. Margaret was silently pleased that she was able to surprise him, though her unpredictability was not something her friends seemed too fond of at the moment. They left the bar with a brief goodbye, and an agreement to regroup the following day to discuss plans. The three walked back in silence for the first half of their journey home. When they'd hit an empty part of the village, Edmund let loose.

"How can you even think about dealing with _pirates_?" He exclaimed. "I mean, I know you've made it clear you don't care about the guild's no-pirate rule, but there's something really off about this man."

"Barbossa's harmless," Margaret replied. "Besides, this is easy work he's offering. We could use the money, and the promise of cargo to sell."

"He's hiring you for a revenge mission, that's not concerning?"

"I hate to say it, but Ed's got a point," Rita said quietly. "I know we've sailed with him before, but…You heard Jack's stories. The man's been through hell and back. Twice. That's got to change a person."

"Well, he's not he only one who's changed," Margaret muttered. "Now, if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to take a longer walk. Go home without me."

She split off from Rita and Edmund, leaving the two to exchange worried glances as she headed in the opposite direction.

It wasn't hard to find the room where Hector was staying. A few friendly words to the innkeeper, and Margaret was pointed in the right direction. Moving with determination, she didn't even hesitate when she reached his door to give it one hard bang. She knew he'd be alone, but she didn't know if he'd want to see her. She didn't care.

When he opened up, she stormed into the room.

"How long have you known how to find me?"

Hector stood watching her for a moment, choosing his next words with care. Margaret felt her fury soar when he sighed like she was a disobedient child.

"I was only recently looking for a smuggler. Ye came highest recommended," He said flatly.

"And you just thought it'd be fun to drag me and Rita back into your pirate game? For old times' sake?"

"It was you who accepted my offer."

"If there's a job I can do, I take it. Doesn't mean I have to trust my patron."

They stared each other down. Margaret was unpleasantly reminded of the first time she saw him; a young girl on a tiny boat facing off with a fearsome marauder. Hector remained at the door, his hand gripping the knob. For a moment she thought he would kick her out, but instead he chuckled like he always did and gently closed it.

"I like the dress," He gestured at the slim gown Margaret donned. "Doesn't suit ye, though."

"How long have you _really_ known how to find me?"

Hector moved closer to her, taking each step warily, lest she pounce.

"I don't know how much ye know, lass," He said. "But it hasn't exactly been an easy decade for me."

"How long?

He took a breath.

"Five years. On and off. Ye moved around a lot, but I heard things."

"So why now?"

She was quick to shoot her questions so he had less time to think in between.

"That not obvious, Miss? I needed yer services."

"You could have used anyone for your heist."

"But I chose someone familiar. Not uncommon in business. Are ye complainin'?"

"I'm trying to figure out if you've gone mad."

Hector's lip twitched, and Margaret could see he was losing his patience. She did not back down, not even when he stomped forward, coming within a few inches of her face.

"What are ye hoping to hear, Miss? That I missed ye? That in ten years, I thought of ye often? Well, I didn't. I didn't have the time!"

Margaret stepped even closer, calling his bluff.

"How dare you call me 'Miss'," she said in a dangerous whisper. "You know my name."

With a sneer, Hector turned away from her. He walked towards the door, and Margaret was sure this time she was going to be thrown out.

"Hey-!" Margaret hurried after him, grabbing him by the shoulder before he could reach the knob. She was going to force him to look at her, make him talk. But it was her turn to be surprised.

He spun and kissed her so fiercely that she thought if he were to let go, she'd fall backward. She met him instantly with equal force, and the two fell into an arm chair in the corner, not bothering to come up for air. She held onto him with a tightness that made his head spin. It was like a competition, one trying to weaken the other with each touch. He lifted up the hem of her dress, running his hand further up her bare thigh until she audibly gasped.

"Not fair," Margaret murmured in his ear.

"I wonder," He growled. "If after all these years, I can still make ye moan like the young dove ye were."

"Try me."

Rita was awake when Margaret returned to the house just before dawn. She hadn't slept much, not because she was waiting for her friend, but because she was unsure. Being among pirates again would be an adventure, but she feared what it would mean for their crew. They were not the best of collaborators, and the idea of sailing under the command of another, even for a short time, was difficult to imagine. Not to mention she was still suspicious of Barbossa's reasons for involving them. There were holes in his story, and his plan, that set her on edge. At first she was grateful to spot Margaret's figure on the path through the window. When she went downstairs to meet her, however, she felt differently.

It was Margaret's eyes that gave her away, for they were clouded with a look Rita hadn't seen in a long time but recognized immediately.

"You didn't," Rita said, sitting down on the ragged sofa.

"Didn't _what?_ " Margaret snapped defensively.

"Come on, you think I don't know where you went?"

"I fail to see how that concerns you."

"Look, you were really cut up after he left. You can deny it all you want, but I swear, if you fall for him, you'll just regret it. Again." Rita tried to keep her tone steady.

Margaret sighed. She knew her friend was looking out for her. Romance was the one topic that they didn't discuss much of, mainly because it rarely was an issue. When it was, though, they didn't quite know how to handle themselves.

"C'mon, Rita. Who do you think you're talking to?" She smiled. "I'm not falling for anybody. And as I think _you_ once said, there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun."

"I know that. I just…would hate to see you get hurt by the likes of him."

"Don't give men so much credit. There are far worse pains in the world than something as pitiful as a broken heart." Margaret yawned.

Rita couldn't argue with that. Then again, she'd never had her heart broken. She wasn't sure Margaret had either, though if she had, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it.


	12. Welcome Back

Margaret wrote a letter to her brother later that morning, informing him of their request to buy from Regis's stock.

"Haven't seen Charlie in ages," She'd said after sending the note off with a less-than enthusiastic Edmund. "If things go over smoothly with these dealers, we could actually start a new business relationship. They never have to know _we're_ why they get raided."

"And now we wait," Rita sighed.

"And now we wait."

Planning turned out to be a far easier endeavor than everyone was expecting. Margaret and Rita's crew had returned in the afternoon, empty handed and euphoric at the news of a job. There was just five of them, more than enough to maintain the small sailship they used for most transports, but nothing in comparison to Hector's rather large unit of men. Though they had only been hired a few months prior, they'd become fiercely loyal. The team consisted of Iggy and Clyde, two men who'd once sailed under the British Navy; a set of twin brothers, Oswald and Oscar, whom Rita had collected on the streets, impressed by their pickpocketing skills and knowledge of the stars; and Isabelle, the only other woman and seasoned smuggler from their guild. They were a motley group, but with talent. Margaret had no trouble convincing them to work alongside the pirates, but they, too, had been uneasy about taking orders from another leader.

"I enjoy doing what we're told and being paid for it," Isabelle said, after the crew had assembled in Margaret's sitting room. "But could we not simply take the _Caballo De Mar_ and meet them there?" _The Caballo De Mar_ was the name of their humble boat.

"It'll be faster if we go together," Rita explained.

"It could be tight quarters," said Oscar, tossing his compass between his hands. "And Ozzie, here, refuses to bathe."

"Do not," Oswald snatched the trinket out of the air.

"You all just go about this as if it were any other pick-up. Consider sailing on the Pearl…a temporary upgrade. And leave any complications with the pirates to me," Margaret said firmly.

Clyde put a friendly hand on her shoulder and grinned.

"Should be buckets of fun."

Barbossa and Margaret, as it turned out, were an even match for one another. The first day the two crews gathered, she pulled him aside before the meeting began.

"I just want to make this very clear," She said carefully. "You may be in command while we're at sea, but I command the business side of things. That means you don't tell me, or my crew, how to do our jobs."

"Would've dream of it," Hector smirked.

The days that followed were busy. All their planning would be moot unless Margaret could secure the transaction with Regis, but they proceeded as though the deal was set. In the mornings, the two crews would meet to discuss routes, divvy up tasks to ensure the ship was filled with supplies, and drink. In the evenings, they'd just drink. Every night, Margaret would bid Rita and Edmund goodnight, and run off to call on Hector in his room. In the name of business, of course. He would always leave the tavern early, whispering something in her ear as he did so. A few moments later, she'd excuse herself. It had become routine. Yet, it took Edmund five nights of this to become suspicious.

"He's sent for her quite a lot," He noted to Rita on their walk home one night. "What more could they be talking about?"

Rita burst out laughing.

"You brainless boy," She said in amazement. "You truly think they're _talking_?"

"I had hoped," Ed grumbled, embarrassed.

After the sixth day with no response from her brother, Margaret was beginning to worry. Hector and Rita assured her, however, that they could still travel to Tortuga even without an invitation and see if they couldn't make contact while on the island. Just when that was beginning to look like the best bet, Edmund returned home one evening with a grubby envelope. It bore a red seal with a skull.

"So dramatic," Margaret muttered as she tore it open.

 _My dear Margaret,_

 _It's good to hear from you. We've got a stash of imported mead that might just be what your patron is looking for, and Captain Regis is more than happy to supply you with it (and I, to see you again!). He's steal at the price you offered, however, so don't bother trying to haggle like you're famous for. Can't say I'm surprised you're not staying out of trouble, but as it's bringing you to me, I can hardly protest. Should you accept, send me your response. Unless we hear otherwise, we'll assume you're on your way. We're only planning to remain inland for another week. When you arrive, give your name to the harbormaster and he'll know what to do. Until then, little sister._

 _Love always,_

 _Charlie_

Margaret groaned, sliding the letter on the table and putting her face in her hands. Rita came over to read it.

"I never met your brother. He seems lovely. Bit _too_ lovely, though," She said, smiling gently.

"I hate that I'm playing him," Margaret mumbled from behind her hands. "But I have to believe he'd understand."

"He never has to know," Rita said. "You said it yourself. And...I've been thinking…if things go south, I say we feign innocence. We hitched a ride on the Pearl in the honest name of completing the deal. We can pretend we never knew of any plot to rob them."

Margaret peeked out at her, intrigued.

"You're surely thinking ahead."

"I like to be prepared."

"By lying through our teeth?"

"It's never failed before."

She was right, but something in the way Rita liked to sew fabrications before they were necessary unnerved Margaret.

"Let's not consider turning on them before we've even set sail. Besides," She chuckled. "They're our ride back. God, this job is already making my head ache." She rubbed her forehead, and Rita fetched her a glass of water.

They decided to launch first thing the next morning. No one wanted to wait any longer. It didn't give them much time for final preparations, but because they'd had the week to load up, they had most of the night to rest and enjoy themselves. Margaret and Hector snuck off at their usual time. Though often they would drift off to sleep together, Margaret had always been sure to wake before him and leave without a goodbye.

Tonight was different, though. She lay conscious, listening to the lull of Hector's steady breathing, and wondered, with a pang, if this would be the last night they shared a bed. Margaret knew she ought to at least try to get some rest, but she also knew if she fell asleep she would miss these moments of peace. Instead, she tried to take in everything. The temperature of his skin, the fabric under her legs, the depth his chest fell when he exhaled, and the shapes the light of the moon made on the walls. She wasn't sure why she felt she had to memorize it all, but she did.

A gust of cold swooped in through the window and rustled the curtains. A shiver ran up Margaret's spine, and she settled deeper into the sheets. A sudden wince from Hector startled her. He was still soundly sleeping, though his breathing had become more sporadic. He let out a soft moan, and began to twitch and jerk as though electrified. He was in distress, and Margaret had never seen him look so fragile. She gingerly placed a hand on his arm.

"Hector?" she whispered in the dark. "Hector, you're dreaming.

With a gasp, he jolted upright. It took him a moment to make sense of what he was. Only the touch of Margaret's hand was able to ground him. He looked at her almost fearfully, like he was starting at a ghost. A moment passed and his gaze softened. Reaching up to trace her cheek with his thumb, he sighed back into reality.

"Nightmare," He murmured. "Did I wake ye?"

Margaret shook her head.

"You get a lot of those," She said quietly. "Or so I've noticed."

"S'pose so. Apologies."

"Do you remember what it was about?"

Hector turned his head towards the window. The moon had begun to fade behind some clouds, but it was still violently luminous.

"Nothing I'd want to fill yer head with. Go back to sleep." He leaned back against his pillow, pulling Margaret with him.

"We've only got so many hours left until daybreak," She said, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Talk to me."

"'Bout what?"

"Everything."

Hector smiled begrudgingly.

"Yer still about the same as I remember ye, in spite of all this time," He said, running his fingers through her long dark hair. "A bit bolder, perhaps.

"Are you pleased?"

He leaned in to kiss her, but not with the same intensity with which he usually did. It was sweeter, and contained a lot more that he'd left unsaid.

"Immensely."

Margaret pulled away, and Hector looked at her, confused.

"Damn," She said sliding out of bed. "I almost forgot." She walked over to where her coat lay atop a pile of her clothes. She rummaged through the pockets for a bit before finding what she'd been searching for. Whatever it was fit squarely in the palm of her hand. She stepped back over to bed, and held it out in front of Hector. It was the small ruby fragment. Hector looked between it and her, disbelieving.

"It's yours," Margaret said quietly. "I kept it safe, and now you can have it back. Something to remember me by, this time."

Slowly, Hector took the gem from her outstretched palm, and held it up to the moonlight where it glinted majestically.

"This all seems very final," He said. "As if ye were sayin' goodbye."

"I know we'll be together on the ship," She whispered slowly. "But in case tonight was the last night. In case, after our work is done, it's another ten years 'til I see you again."

Much to Margret's surprised, Hector laughed.

"Sometimes I forget how young ye are," He chuckled. "Naïve, almost."

"Is that so?" She felt her cheeks grow hot.

"No need to get so incensed," Hector said, running a hand along her waist. "I only meant that ye don't yet realize how small the world is. If we want to see one another, we shall."

"You said the same thing last time."

"That was…a trying age. I was a cursed man, rotten to the core. Ye wouldn't have wanted to see that."

"Perhaps. But you'd never know what I'd have wanted."

Hector sighed.

"Alright. _I_ didn't want to find ye. For all I knew then, ye might've found yerself a husband, God forbid, and settled down. I could never…It wasn't my place to go searchin' for ye, when I was but a husk of a man."

Margaret smiled.

"Well, here I am. Not settled," She said. Reaching up to turn his face towards hers, she asked, "And what are you now? A full man?"

"I don't much know about that," Hector said, smiling darkly. "But here I am."

He tried to hand the stone back to Margaret, but she closed his fingers around it.

"Keep it. I like to know you'll have a reason to think of me."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Margaret opened her mouth, but her words faltered. She knew why, but for the life of her couldn't say it. If she did, everything would erupt out of balance. She knew she and Hector could never be like the giddy spouses she saw on the streets, walking hand in hand. He was married to the ocean, and she to her work. That would never change, no matter how many nights they spent together pretending they were the only people in the world. So, of course she couldn't say it.

"Just…because."

Hector kissed her again, and fire came to life in her chest.

"My dear girl," He whispered in her ear. "When we're apart, I'll think of ye each time I look up at the stars."

Satisfied, Margaret returned the kiss and the two fell into a rapture that made the remaining hours of night glide by all too quickly.

The next morning was lethargic, and the two crews carried themselves out to the Black Pearl's mooring in a sleepy haze. It was just dawn, and the docks were bare, save for a few seagulls and fishermen. Margaret and Hector were already waiting on deck as they approached. Two of Barbossa's men, Pintel and Ragetti, carried the last trunk of food rations onto the vessel, signifying that they were ready to depart. The crew of the _Caballo de Mar_ came all together, led by an energetic Rita.

"C'mon, enough dawdling!" She called behind her. She was met with a collective groan. "You want them to leave without us?"

Edmund had even come to see them off, though he was remaining behind to handle any business affairs from land. All of them had yet to see the vast ship up close, and were staring in awe as they waited to board.

"Lord have mercy, if my poor mother knew I was to journey upon a pirate ship," Iggy said, whistling at the sight.

"She's a beaut, alright," Isabella declared. She gave a respectful nod to Hector as he helped her up onto the deck from the ramp.

"She's one of a kind," He agreed.

"They certainly don't make British frigates like this," said Clyde. "Never seen any vessel with black sails. Least not in the Atlantic."

"I've never sailed a rig this big before!" Oswald exclaimed, examining the large masts.

"And luckily you won't have to," Rita said. She was the last one to board. "We're passengers here. So, enjoy." Then to just Margaret she muttered, "Jack is probably out there somewhere, beating himself up for losing control of the Pearl again."

Margaret snickered and went to help Hector pull the ramp up from the docks. They were boarded and ready to cast off. Hector immediately took the helm and shot out orders to his crew. Soon, the anchor was hoisted and the sails just beginning to be eased. Margaret turned to her own crew with a wide grin.

"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, gents and lady," She spoke loudly above the breeze. "And Rita," She added with a side smile to her friend. "Welcome back."


	13. Just Business

The week they'd had ashore had done all occupants of the Black Pearl a world of good. Though the pirates and the smugglers had hardly become fast friends, they'd learned to coexist peacefully by knowing when to keep to themselves. However, getting into spats was unavoidable when one was sailing with a diverse group of thieves. It didn't help that Margaret and Rita had little sway with Barbossa's men, as few from his original crew had remained. It was not a long journey to Tortuga, nor was it a small ship, but Oscar had been right about tension rising in close proximity. The last night before they were due to arrive, a fight broke out.

Rita and Iggy heard shouts from above deck while reading directly below in the sleeping quarters. They hurried up to find Clyde facing off with a burly pirate, who reeked of whiskey. The pirate was advancing aggressively, but Clyde was holding up both hands in an attempt to make peace.

"Now, there's no need for that," He said, stepping back slowly.

"Ye think ye can cheat me outta my shillings without me noticin', boy?" The pirate stumbled closer. His cohorts gathered around him, the remnants of a card game left on a barrel by the side railing.

"I keep telling you," Clyde said patiently. "I'm not cheating, I just happen to be very good at this game. I played it all the time—"

"Where, in yer precious navy? Ye think yer so high n' mighty, but ye ain't. Some of yer officer brethren would have our kind hung daily! Still think yer better?"

There was a drunken chorus of heckling from the pirate crowd.

"Of course not, I—"

The pirate drew his sword, pointing it squarely at the chest of Clyde, who froze. Rita and Iggy saw their chance to intervene.

"Hey, now," Iggy came entirely on deck. "What's all this, then? My dear friend and I no longer serve the armed forces. We're…we're like you!"

"Ye'll never be like me!" The pirate swung his sword, and Clyde leapt out of the way. "Cheatin' bastard!"

"I didn't cheat!"

"Leave him alone!" Rita shouted. "He said he played fair, can't you just take his word for it?"

But the pirate seemed too enraged to think clearly. He swung again at Clyde, this time slicing his shoulder, this time coming far too close for comfort. Just then, the sound of a gun being cocked paused the scene.

"Drop it."

Margaret's voice cut sharply through the night air from where she stood on the top deck, pistol aimed at the back of the burly pirate's head. Everyone turned slowly to look at her. The pirate lowered his sword but did not relinquish it. Instead, he jabbed an accusatory finger at Clyde.

"Yer pretty boy 'ere is stealin' from me!"

"I'm not, I won fair and square!

Shouts burst out yet again, rage spewing from both pirate and smuggler side.

Margaret sighed and fired a shot directly above her, silencing the throng.

"For Gods' sake, stop acting like children. Clyde, give the man back whatever you got, and you," She gestured at the pirate. "Put your damn sword away. No more gambling for the remainder of the journey, it's turned you all to lunacy."

"I won't be settled 'til he admits to lyin'!" The pirate spat at Clyde's feet, who was resentfully holding out a small pouch to return to him. Glaring at Margaret, the pirate added. "And I don't take orders from whores like ye."

"How would you prefer a bullet in your foot?" She cocked her gun once more and re-aimed it.

The pirate waivered, looking fearful but determined to have the upper hand.

"Yer…yer not in charge here. Yer not the captain!"

"No, but I am."

Barbossa had appeared in the doorway of the main cabin. He stepped out into the open to survey the situation, his men drawing back in the hopes that they wouldn't face his wrath.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't point yer pistol at my men, Smyth," Hector called up to Margaret.

"Apologies, _Captain_ ," She said, descending the stairs but continuing to grip her weapon. "But your man here brandished a blade at one of my crew."

"Motley," Hector called out to his first mate, a stern looking grey-haired pirate who had been standing amongst the card-players. "Tell me what happened here."

Motley was a solemn man, one that no one knew very well, not even Hector himself who had only just hired him. His only defined trait was that he was trustworthy, something Hector could scarcely say for any of his other shipmates. Margaret looked livid at not being asked, but knew he sought an impartial account.

"The men were betting and drinking," Motley drawled. "A simple case of someone losin' a bit too often."

Hector turned on the instigating pirate.

"Ye caused a ruckus on me ship because yer a sore loser, eh?"

"S-sorry, sir. Won't happen again."

"Aye. Damn right it won't. I don't have room on me ship for folk who can't stomach defeat with honor. Get below deck. The heads need a good scrub."

He obeyed, followed by the other pirates who bestowed murderous looks upon Clyde as they passed by. Motley joined them, with a nod to Barbossa. Clyde was trying to discretely stow his winnings back in his pocket, but Hector spotted him.

"I think I'd better take that," He said with a malicious smile. "Gambling's a sport that turns men vile. Wouldn't want to see ye become like them."

Clyde reluctantly handed over the pouch, stealing a glance at Margaret who simply rolled her eyes. Hector stalked off towards the cabin.

"Smyth, a word, if ye don't mind."

Margaret folded her arms and followed him haughtily into the room. When the door had shut, Rita, Iggy, and Clyde looked at one another. They were alone on the deck. That is, until Isabelle and the twins hurried over from where they'd been hiding on the bow.

"Clyde, idiota! You should know not to start fights like that," Isabelle chided, smacking him playfully on the arm.

"Wasn't me. I was just trying to play a friendly game," Clyde shrugged with the epitome of innocence.

"I've never seen Margaret like that before," Iggy said quietly. "All...vicious-like. She was ready to take on all those pirates for ye, lad."

Rita smiled. She looked out at the water, surprisingly calm for an autumn evening.

"That's just how she is. Righteous as hell. You're new, but you'll get used to it."

"I can't quite tell yet if she's brilliant or insane," Oswald said, pulling up a barrel to sit on.

"Both are what you want in a leader," Isabelle said. "Anyone who can stand up to tyranny is my kind of Capitan."

"Sure, but there's a difference between seeking justice and seeking retribution," said Oscar. "Remember when she nearly killed that man for coming up short on a payment?"

"That was only after he insulted your shoes, brother mine," Oswald grinned. "She was protecting your honor."

"Did I ever tell you how Margaret and I found each other?" Rita said suddenly, turning to face them all. "Or, I should say how she found me…"

The five looked at her, intrigued. The history of their two-woman team had been a mystery to them, and rarely did Rita give them the satisfaction of a story.

"I was young when I came here with my family. Young and absolutely reckless, more so than I am today. So, when my mother and father were imprisoned, I ran away. The people left to look after me were cold, unloving creatures who looked upon me as though I was a spawn of Satan. I took to the streets, where I stayed for far too long. A cobbler took me in, and I was grateful. For a time, I was beginning to remember what it felt like to have a home. But the cobber had a son, a hotheaded naval man. When he returned from sea, he considered me a gift from his father. A plaything."

She paused, jaw tensing at the memory.

"I'll spare you the details, but I knew I could not survive in that household. The cobbler was too old to protect me, and his son knew just how to manipulate me. He warned me not to run, and I was afraid not to listen. One day, I was in the marketplace, planning my escape for the hundredth time, when I ran into her. A girl, not much older than myself, picking out carrots at the stand. She saw my bruises, the ones everyone else ignored, and without even an introduction she told me to meet her that night in the alley behind the market. She said she would help me. I don't know why I believed a total stranger, but I did.

That night, I crept out after I thought everyone was asleep. I made it as far as the front steps before I saw the cobbler's son returning home, drunk, with a few of his mates. He spotted me at once and chased me through the town. He and the others cornered me in a deserted dead end street. I was sure the girl from the market would never find me now. Suddenly, I heard one of his mates yell and fall to the ground. There was a dagger in his leg. And then…there she was. Margaret in all her glory, standing at the end of that street with a gun pointed at the head of the man who wronged me. He ran, followed by his idiot friends who thought Margaret must have been some kind of witch. And Margaret was left to pick me up off the ground and carry me to a new life."

There was silence as Rita allowed this to sink in. The others watched her with wide eyes, trying to visualize the young duo at their most vulnerable.

"The only thing she regretted was losing that dagger," Rita added with a chuckle, halfheartedly attempting to lighten the mood.

"But…she just let them get away?" Blurted Oscar. "After what he did to you?"

"That's the thing about Margaret," Rita said, affection swelling in her voice. "She's not a killer. She's a fighter, and by God she'd do anything to fight for the people she cares about." She turned to smile at Clyde. "Even if it's something as stupid as a card game."

"Damn," Clyde muttered, shaking his head. "I feel really awful for cheating, now."

They all laughed, but not too loudly for his sake.

Meanwhile, Hector poured Margaret a glass of wine. The two sat at the large table that occupied most of the cabin, diving into the captain's private collection of drinks. It was one of very few times they'd been alone together since departing from St. Kitts. As Margaret had predicted, the romantic bliss that suited them well while on land did not transfer over to the sea. Not only were they unable to find places or times to meet in private, but both had a more serious temperament while at work that kept them from seeking one another out. For now, they were together and undisturbed. Even the monkey had scurried off somewhere, perhaps in search of stowaway bugs. The creature didn't seem to like Margaret very much, and she half wondered, in amusement, if it wasn't a bit jealous.

"That's really excellent," Margaret complimented the wine she'd just taken a gulp of.

"Perks of being captain," He said gruffly, filling his own goblet.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Margaret began. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just don't sit back and watch while my men are threatened."

"Ye take good care of 'em, I'll give ye that," Hector said with a small smile. "They're grown men, they can all stand to share the same space for a bit longer." He paused, debating whether or not to voice his next question. "Now, that lad ye were protectin'. Fond of him, are ye?"

Margaret raised her eyebrows.

"As fond as I am of any of my crew. Why?"

"Just wonderin'."

"Hector," Margaret started giggling. "You're not a jealous man, are you?"

Hector took a long sip from his cup to bide him some time to respond. He tried to look affronted, but his mocking grin gave him away.

"Not at all, not at all," He said airily. "Here, have some more wine."

"Did you invite me in here just to ask about my potential lovers or did you have something important to say?"

"Wanted to go over plans for tomorrow with ye, of course," Hector said. He stood up and walked over to the window. "But, while we're on the topic, have ye got any?"

"Lovers? No! Except…well, _you_ , as you know. It's just been you, as of late." Margaret felt her face flush. She hated talking about this, but part of her wondered why Hector hadn't asked sooner.

"So no competition at the moment? Aboard or off?" He walked around the table to stand behind Margaret to refill her goblet.

"No competition," She said softly, smiling up at him.

He leaned down to kiss her, something he hadn't done since land, and though all the fears of losing him again came bubbling up again in Margaret, she welcomed it.

"I always meant to ask," She whispered against his cheek. "What was it like, not to feel?"

Hector was silent for a moment. He took Margaret's hand, and placed it on his chest. His heart beat steadily, and the warmth from his hand seeped into her skin.

"It was worse than death," He said quietly. "And I should know. Being alive but always starvin' for the pleasures of living...it was a hell like no other. Death was almost a blessin', yet when I came back I was suddenly whole again. I could be drunk. I could taste. I could bleed. I'd even forgotten," He added, caressing Margaret's face with his free hand. "What flesh upon my own even felt like."

"Is that all I am to you?" She said with a mocking smile. "Flesh?"

"That's all any of us are," He laughed. "Though it helps that yer a fine woman under it."

"Flesh and finery, that's me."

He kissed her again through his smile, this time rougher and Margaret felt in that moment that she could never even hope to imagine what it would be like to feel nothing.

Rita was lying awake in her hammock, waiting for Margaret's return. When she finally came, Rita caught a glimpse of her face in the cracks of moonlight. She looked tired. More tired than Rita had seen in ages. Margaret fell onto her hammock with a deep exhale. She could sense Rita was awake, and turned on her side to face her friend.

"Well? What did he want?" Rita whispered.

"The usual. Planning. Drinking...Company."

"Urgh, in the main cabin? Disgusting," Rita mimicked retching while Margaret laughed.

"Prude," She teased with a yawn. "You forget, he was cursed for ten years. Unable to satiate any of his…y'know, desires."

"Ick. I don't like that he's trying to make up for it now. What did he say about tomorrow?"

"Same plan as always. All of us go meet with Regis, while they head straight for the vault."

"You don't think it's odd that he doesn't want any of us to help with the actual break-in?"

It was true that the twins had offered their master lock-picking services to Barbossa at one point, but they were turned down vehemently.

"No, not really," Margaret said. "It's better for all of us that way."

"It just feels like there's something he's not telling us. Something in this haul he's after that he doesn't want us to know about, or that's more important than he's letting on."

"What does it matter? We're not being paid to be nosy."

"I know you trust him," Rita swallowed. "But I don't. I never have."

"Who says I trust him? I know what he is."

"And yet you love him."

Rita had never said anything like it out loud before, and hearing the words caught Margaret off guard. She opened her mouth to retort, but she felt like she had swallowed her voice. Instead, she chose silence, turning her back on Rita.

"Margaret, listen. No good can come of this. He's a pirate, he'd only end up hurting you, and…" She paused. She knew she'd pushed too far. The two didn't speak again until the next day, but were sure the other did not get a good night's sleep.

Tortuga was the most pleasing to behold at night, when its torches lit only places that enticed, and the squalor was hidden by darkness. The usual smell of manure and waste that wafted through the streets in the day would become paved over with sweet smelling honey mead and cheap perfumes. Thus it was with pleasure that the occupants of the Black Pearl finally arrived later that next evening. The plan was that Hector's crew would wait on board until they saw Margaret and her band of smugglers leave the docks to Regis' base, then sneak off to the vault, whose location had been disclosed to them by an unspecified source.

"Once we have the loot, we'll need to cast off, in case Regis has it in his mind he'd like to come after us," Hector explained. "Make it a timely transaction, then get back on board."

They traveled lightly, not taking more men than were needed. The twins stayed behind with the rest of the pirates waiting on board, much to their dismay. Margaret led the others down to the end of the dock. It wasn't exactly a quiet night, and the hubbub from the center of town could be heard even from port, yet the Harbormaster was dozing against a post. Margaret cleared her throat, and he opened one lazy eye.

"Margaret Smyth," She told him. He nodded and gestured for them to follow.

They were brought down the road to a darker part of the town, where the buildings were less tall and full of life. They stopped outside a small shack with the windows boarded up, but with light slipping through the cracks. The Harbor master rapped thrice on the door and stood back. After a few moments, a man with dark hair and a stubble of a beard opened the door with a frown.

"The Smyth girl here for ya," The Harbormaster said with a nod towards the group

"Mags!" The man's expression changed in a flash to one of elation, and he rushed out to throw a hug around Margaret. She returned it with a laugh.

"Haven't heard that name in a while. It's good to see you, Charlie."

"Thank you, Pascal, you may go," Charlie said to the Harbor master, who headed off with a tip of his hat. "Please, come in, quickly!"

He held the door open and ushered everyone inside the building. It was a small home that had been turned into a situation room, maps spread on the tables and books littering the surfaces of the many trunks and crates that were scattered throughout.

"Regis will be back any moment," Charlie said, clearing some books off a crate. "He's gone to get your order, in fact. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"I'd love anything strong," Iggy said, licking his lips.

Charlie smiled and opened one of the crates. It contained bottles filled to the brim with a tasty looking amber liquid, darker than anything Margaret had seen before. Charlie unstopped one and passed it around.

"That there's ale shipped in from Portugal. Sweeter than most you'd find on this side of the ocean. Got it off some poor sods in our last prize. Regis knows half the Spanish trading routes by heart, so we've intercepted decent hauls in the last few years. They're sure to be onto us soon, though," He explained. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Why the shack, then, if you make good profits?" Rita asked, taking a swig.

"Discretion, mainly," Charlie said. "We sell to buyers who pay upfront. When it's big cargo, we'll deal with the big dogs in New Providence but have a number of good trade relationships here on Tortuga. You ought to think about

Charlie turned to Margaret, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"You've grown so much," He said. "I almost didn't recognize you. You look well. A bit peaky, though."

"You're not so bad yourself. It's been so long," Margaret said. She felt almost like a young girl again, having her brother examine her with care. "I know I should write more, but—"

She was interrupted by three knocks at the door.

"That'll be him," Charlie muttered, walking over to let his boss inside. Two men entered the room, each carrying a large crate, followed by a pirate in an ostrich feathered hat and deep blue coat. He had a gleaming sword just poking out of its hilt that swung menacingly at his side. He looked and walked almost like royalty, and when he laid eyes on Margaret and her crew she had to fight the urge to bow her head.

"Captain Regis, sir," Charlie said, moving to his side. "My sister, Margaret, and her company."

"A pleasure, my lady," Regis spoke in a gravelly voice that didn't quite fit his boyish face. "I've heard much about your exploits, what an honor it is that we should finally cross paths."

"Ah, well, the pleasure is all mine," Margaret shook his hand. It felt cold, and she almost shuddered at his touch. "It was only a matter of time before someone hired us to bargain with the famous Captain Regis."

"Please, call me Christopher," Regis said. He waved his hand at the men behind him, who placed the crates on the ground. "I think you'll find that everything is in order, here." The men opened the crates to reveal the full stock of mead.

Margaret removed a pouch of money from her pocket that Hector had provided her with earlier to hand over.

"It's what we agreed on," She said, as one of Regis' men snatched it up and peered inside.

"Excellent," Regis said. "It's been a delight doing business with you."

"I can help you bring these crates out to your ship," Charlie said, sealing them up again.

"Yes, your ship," Regis said. "You came in on the big one with black sails, did you not?"

"We did," Margaret said calmly. "She's not ours, though. We're passengers."

"I see, I see. She's a fine vessel. Not as nice as _mine_ , but few are," He chuckled, joined in by his men.

Margaret exchanged a wary look with Rita. The worst was over, now they just had to make it back to the ship without getting ensnared in a drawn out conversation.

"Well. We'd better be off, then."

"Oh, are you sure you can't stay longer? You could have another round. I believe we have some company joining us soon."

Margaret looked at Charlie, who grinned encouragingly.

"No, I'm...I'm sorry, but we really must be going. We have a deadline, see. Thank you for making good on the deal."

"And you on yours. For the most part."

Rita raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, 'for the most part'?" Rita asked. She was surprised to see that Charlie, too, was looking confused. Regis' men began to move behind them, blocking any easy route to the exit.

"I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere," Regis nodded to his men who all drew their weapons.

"What's all this about?" Margaret said angrily.

"There was just one little snag we hit in all this business. You underestimated me, and I overestimated you. Did you really think I wouldn't find out that you sent a platoon of pirates out to break into my vault, while I was off retrieving your goods?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Margaret said at once.

Another three knocks at the door. Regis' expression turned into a malicious smile.

"Ah, here they are. Our other guests."

He opened the door, and in were thrown Hector, Motley, and three other men from the Pearl, all bound and gagged. Two more of Regis' soldiers herded them into the cramped space.

"These are the friends with which you sailed into Tortuga, correct?" Regis asked Margaret.

"'Friends' is a strong word," She said slowly, careful not to make eye contact with Hector. "We're all really more of acquaintances."

"What makes you think she knows anything about these thieves' plan? They could have just been using her!" Charlie came for Margaret's defense.

"Use her they did, but she was every bit as much a part of the ploy. A few days ago, I got wind of a plan to rob me, led by a vengeful captain and his smuggler ally. Naturally, I prepared my men. I couldn't tell you, of course, Charlie. You were too, ah, close to the situation. A pity, too," Regis drew his own sword. "I was so looking forward to meeting Miss Smyth under more respectable conditions."

A trap. The whole thing had been a trap, their plan doomed from the moment they landed, and now both crews would suffer the consequences. There was no talking her way out of this one, not when they had been aware all along that Margaret was knowingly providing the distraction.

"So…" She took a breath. "Does this mean we don't get to keep the mead?"


	14. Unexpected

There was nowhere to run. Margaret's mind was racing, trying to calculate if just the five of them still standing could take on Regis' armed men. If they weren't already surrounded, she could draw her gun and lead a fight, but with a circle of sharpened blades at their necks there was no move she could make that wouldn't end in her own bloodshed. Fortunately, Regis had yet to give any order. Instead, he approached Barbossa, who was kneeling in a line beside the other pirates.

"This is the renowned Captain Barbossa, is it?" He said, sliding the smooth end of his sword along Hector's jacket. "Ungag him."

The man standing closest ripped the cloth from his mouth with such force that Hector gasped in pain.

"Tell me," Regis said loudly, towering over Hector with a smirk. "To what do I owe this honor? A fine pirate like yourself surely has better folk to plunder than little old me."

"That's _my_ stash yer keepin' from me, Regis, and ye bloody well know it!" Hector spat.

"What? That cavern I found didn't have your name on it. And besides," He beckoned one of his men forward, who appeared with a small chest. Regis placed it on a crate. "Finders' keepers. Isn't that our motto?"

Regis opened the chest. It was filled to the brim with odd knick-knacks. Tarnished silver and gold cups and pieces that hardly looked valuable. He ran his hands over the objects, making a clinking noise as he did.

"You came after me for a few measly trinkets, did you?" Regis looked almost delighted. "Tell me, was it worth your life?"

Hector said nothing. Margaret tried to meet his eye, feeling her fury rise. How could he have risked them all like this for next to nothing? She had been fighting for a fortune, not a couple of dented toys. Suddenly, Regis slammed the chest shut with a jarring laugh.

"I'm just teasing, Barbossa, old boy. I know what you're after. And don't worry, I've got it, alright. I've kept it safe all this time, unlike _you_ who was clearly not very good at hiding his precious belongings. Would you like to see what I've been using it for? Here, a demonstration."

Again, Hector remained silent. Without warning, Regis plunged his sword towards him.

"No!" Margaret shrieked.

Instead of Hector, however, the blade sank deep into the abdomen of the man beside him. Hector watched, wide eyed, as Motley fell to the ground, punctured all the way through. Something odd began to happen. The wound was not normal. Instead of red seeping from the gash, pure black liquid trickled out. The first mate began twitching and writhing on the ground, low moans escaping from behind his gag.

"What the hell…" Rita breathed.

Hector tried desperately to free his hands, but with no avail. He cursed Regis with all his might, but Regis simply stood back and watched the transformation of the body at his feet. It was something he'd surely seen a hundred times before. Yet, he wasn't the only one who had witnessed a similar demise in the past. Margaret stood petrified, and as Motley's horrid gargling filled the room she saw the same fate as Captain Morgan's bestowed upon him. Only this time, she couldn't run. His skin turned ashen, peeling off as he turned into a gray, lifeless form that resembled a demon. The wound where he'd been pieced was now a dark crater in his body, the black blood dripping in a pool around him.

Regis pulled out a vial of a familiar black potion. There was much less of it now than when Margaret had ripped it off the shelf in Circe's workshop. Regis unscrewed the top and bent down. His gloves allowed him to scoop some of Motley's infected blood into the vial unharmed.

"My men and I have become known for our 'diseased blades'. When we stumbled upon it in your collection, Barbossa, we knew it was destiny that we should wield it. Discovering its power the first time, now that was fun. It's certainly come in handy. But I can only make more if I still have some of the original potion," He explained. "I realized that a little too late. It's almost gone now. But I've saved what's left in here, found out I can mix it with what comes out of my victims to make a diluted solution, and there you have it! An unlimited supply of bottled death. And you to thank for it, Captain."

Margaret looked at Hector, her heart pounding. He was still knelt over his first mate, murderous desire in his eyes. She herself was trembling in anger, but more at Regis for killing, or at Hector for keeping the potion in the first place, she could not decide.

"It's a shame you'll have to suffer the same fate. Ironic, almost," Regis said with a grin. The men moved closer around, swords at the ready.

"Sir!" Charlie called out suddenly. All eyes turned to him "Please…spare my sister."

"Charlie, dear boy, doing business with family is never easy," He said, feigning sympathy. "But we do what we must."

"Just let her go, nothing was taken."

"It's the principle of the thing, lad."

While they were negotiating for Margaret's life, something outside the window between the boarded cracks caught Rita's eye. It was Oscar, who had been watching the situation unfold. Rita blessed his habit of not following orders and signified that she saw him with a twitch of her head.

"On three," he mouthed to her, holding up three fingers. "Get down."

Rita nudged Margaret ever so slightly. It was enough to get her attention. She saw Oscar and gave a curt nod. The pirates were already on the floor, they would be okay. Isabelle, Iggy, and Clyde, however, had not noticed Oscar's warning. She would have to improvise.

"We can take her as a prisoner," Charlie was suggesting. Margaret had a moment to shoot him a look of apology before she dove to the ground, pulling Isabelle and Iggy with her. Rita did the same with Clyde, and in the nick of time.

Every window exploded inwards, with a blast that knocked all men at standing level to the ground. That was their chance. Safe on the floor, but with a deafening ringing in her ears, Margaret grabbed as many hands as she could and kicked down the broken door. There was no time to unbind the pirates, but they all manage to leap to their feet and follow suit, bursting out of the shack. The explosion was small enough not to destroy the place, which unfortunately meant that Regis could very well be left alive, albeit disoriented. They all made it outside and began to run for the ship, Oscar joining up with them.

"Nice one!" Rita yelled with a grin.

"Wait!" Hector shouted, coming to a halt. "The potion!"

Margaret grunted and rushed back inside. She saw Regis, lying unconscious on the floor, the vial in his sprawled hand. Trying not to look at Motley's deformed husk, she reached for the potion. Suddenly, Regis' hand came to life and grabbed her wrist. With a firm kick to the face, he collapsed once more. She attended to Charlie next, who had been hit on the head with falling debris. She dragged him out into the cool night, leaving him lying on the side of the road, where at least he would be breathing fresh air.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," She whispered, kissing him brusquely on the cheek.

"Back to the ship!" Hector called. "No time for mercy."

"He's my brother," Margaret said coldly as they ran. "And believe me, you're in no position to talk about mercy."

Hector looked away, shame in his eyes.

"Ye got it, then?"

Margaret held up the vial. Hector reached for it, but she tucked it into her pocket.

"I'll be holding onto it, if you don't mind."

"Fair enough," Hector conceded.

When they reached the Pearl, the anchor was already being hoisted. Everyone hurried aboard, the crew who'd stayed behind already bustling about in preparation for a hasty departure. Hector stalked up to the helm, Margaret at his heels.

"Set a course for Singapore," He bellowed at his men "Quickly, now, ye lazy dogs! We don't know how long until Regis comes to."

"Singapore?" Margaret repeated. "No, next you take me and my crew home. That was the deal."

"That was before the deal went to shit, wasn't it?" Hector turned on her with a grim stare. "If ye want to stay behind and wait for Regis to kill ye, be my guest. He never takes prisoners, and he knows ye live on St Kitts. We head there, he'd find us in a heartbeat. The plan is to stay on the move as long as possible, and ye ought to be grateful we're hauling yer crew along with us."

" _Grateful?_ " She said furiously. "You forget it was _my_ man who saved us. It's you who should be grateful you're even alive! You got us into this mess, you got one of your own _murdered_ , and you have the nerve to—"

"Enough!" Hector had been pushed to the edge, and was fuming. He stormed up to Margaret, standing within inches of her face. "Another word, Smyth, and I won't hesitate throwing you in the brig for insubordination."

Margaret was shaking with anger. She didn't want to look at him, a man she thought at least cared about her enough to protect her. All this time, he had betrayed her. He knew what the potion could do, and willingly brought it to the outside world. Now it was causing all the destruction it was capable of, and Margaret knew the reason he was so angry was because he was aware of how much wrong he did. She stared down at the floor, obeying his command for silence.

"Go and tell your crew to get comfortable. We've got a long journey ahead," Hector said in a more level voice as he returned to the helm.

They made it out to the open ocean with no sign of a following ship. They were in the clear, for now. Everyone, even the pirates, applauded Oscar on his fine explosive execution.

"It was Ozzie's idea, really," he said modestly. "We thought if things didn't go well with the plan, a contingency was in order."

"It was in the nick of time, too," said one of the pirates who'd been on the mission. "Otherwise we all woulda ended like Motley."

No one could fully capture the horror they'd seen as they told the tale of what happened to the men who'd stayed aboard. It was safe to say, however, that the events had broken the barriers that heavily divided the teams. It was good thing, too, since it was looking like they'd be together for longer than expected. Everyone soon went off to bed, shaken, but too exhausted not to sleep. Rita had tried to get Margaret to talk, but received only one word responses to her questions of how she was feeling. Eventually she gave up, and retired with the rest of the crew. Margaret, however, wandered the empty desks alone, staring out at the dark waters that reminded her, with a chill, of the black liquid in her vial. She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up to examine it, hands quaking. It was hard to believe a thin piece of glass was all the stood between her and unimaginable hell.

"Ye ought not to drive yourself mad, staring at that cursed thing," came the voice of Hector from behind.

He approached her cautiously, like a child seeking forgiveness but not quite knowing how to ask. They stood side by side against the railing. It felt all too familiar.

"I owe ye an apology, I suppose," Hector continued.

"You owe me a lot more than that," Margaret said snidely.

"I'm sure," He replied. "But for now, I am sorry. I didn't expect it to go this way."

"That's why you hired me, wasn't it? Because we were after the potion. You should have told me."

"Ye might not have come."

"True."

There was silence. The ashen, demonic face of Motley was still stuck in her mind, and Margaret knew she wouldn't be able to shake it.

"How could you do this to me, Hector?" Margaret asked, her voice cracking. She was holding onto the vial so tightly it looked like it might burst. Gently, Hector cupped her shaking hand between both of his to steady it.

"As we were escapin' the workshop, all those years ago, there were only two things I took for meself," He said quietly. "A star chart, and that potion. Of course I couldn't tell ye, but I knew it was too dangerous to be left alone. Someone might again find it, and use it for treachery."

"Liar," Margaret snorted, ripping her hand from his grasp.

"Alright," he took a breath. "I _wanted_ it, I admit. I needed it."

Margaret waited as he wrestled with how to tell the truth.

"I told myself that after I explored the full extent of what it could do, I would ensure its destruction. That was my justification. I was foolish, thinking that in my hands, it could do no harm to the world. But…I was curious. It was power like I'd never seen. And I was bloodthirsty," A hardened smile spread across his lips. "When ye killed Morgan, I could picture myself delivering the same torture to those who'd wronged me."

"You're a wicked man," Margaret accused. "It haunts me to this day, what I did, yet you would keenly wish that doom on others at your hand."

"Not wicked," Hector argued. "Just ambitious. After we left ye at the cove, I began to regret holding onto it. Not only did it remind me of ye, but it made me…nervous. When I marooned Jack on that island, I had half a mind to use it on him then. That didn't sit right with me, though. I knew if I kept it on me person, there was a chance I'd use it for the wrong reasons. So, when I became captain, I hid it along with a small treasure I'd acquired in an abandoned cavern. There, it remained, until Regis happened upon it. That's the full of it, I swear."

Margaret sighed, opening her palm once more to glare at the vial.

"Any hands this potion falls in are the wrong hands," She murmured. "I'd toss it into the ocean now if I didn't fear what it might do to our fish supply."

"With Regis' blades soaked in the stuff, he's near invincible. And rest assured he'll be hunting us 'til he gets that vial back," Hector said.

"So, what do we do?"

Margaret looked at Hector, not in anger now, but with expectation. If anyone knew how to handle undefeatable pirates, it was him.

"We destroy the damned thing," He said simply. "There's a witch in Singapore who specializes in brews such as this. We get rid of it, outrun Regis for as long as we can, and eventually get back to our lives."

"If there's a life to get back to, after this," Margaret said skeptically. There weren't many places they could hide from a man who memorized sailing routes and had connections all across the Atlantic. No, if they were to fight Regis— _when_ they did—it would be to the death. Margaret knew he wouldn't stop until he had his precious power, and she wouldn't stop until she rid the seas of his blight.

"That's the funny thing 'bout life," Hector said, sliding his arm around Margaret's waist. She allowed him to do so, deciding it was better to be held than to be angry. "It keeps going on."

"I'm sorry," Margaret said suddenly. "For your first mate."

"He was a good man. Good pirate. I'll have him to avenge if I come face to face with Regis once more."

"We can't evade him forever. Even if we manage to eliminate this magic, he'll still have a set of infected weapons. "

"With any luck, we'll be more ready when he finds us," Hector sighed. "I am sorry ye got tangled up in this. But for a time, at least, I'll be glad to have ye on my crew."

Margaret smiled involuntarily. Yes, she was worried for her friends, who had no business being on the hit list of a pirate. Yes, she was terrified of what fates awaited the world if they could not destroy the potion. Still, she felt more alive than she had in a while. She opened her mouth to say so, but a sharp pain shot through her head. Margaret winced, pressing her free palm to her forehead. Hector turned her to face him.

"Ye alright there, lass?"

"Fine," Margaret muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Just…not feeling very well."

Hector brushed his cool hands against her cheeks, taming the heat that was suddenly emanating from her body.

"Get some rest," He said quietly. "Can't have ye dyin' of a plague aboard me ship."

Margaret laughed weakly. The pain subsided somewhat, replaced by a light wave of nausea. She realized at once how tired she was. She hesitated, eyes turning again to the vial in her clutch. Hector held out his hand.

"I'll look after it for ye. I promise," He said. Margaret looked unsure. "Can ye trust me?"

"No," She admitted, but she placed the potion in his grasp.

"Smart girl," He said with a grin. They bade each other goodnight. Sometimes, he would invite her to spend the night in the captain's quarters, but tonight he could tell she had not quite forgiven him.

The route to Singapore would be long and arduous, as Captain Barbossa planned to take them a back route to lessen their chances of Regis catching up before they reached the witch.

Two weeks went by with no sign of other sails, but still the members of the Black Pearl were antsy. The pirates couldn't risk any looting, and staying off the charts was not a very profitable venture. They were loyal to Hector, who had yet to let them down, but even they couldn't help but complain of the grueling days at sea with little incentive. Margaret's crew was feeling similarly, and she and Rita could sense their rising irritation. Margaret had been wrestling with how best to lead them through this mess, but every attempt to boost morale through speeches and planning ended with a lackluster response. She could plainly see that they did not belong caught up in the affairs of pirates. It wasn't fair. It was with this in mind that she gathered them all one morning in the empty sleeping cabin.

"Listen," Margaret started. "Once we get to Singapore, your ties to this quest, and me, will end. You'll seek new jobs there, or even a way back home. Take the mead with you, and see if you can't get a fair price."

Everyone stared at her blankly.

"What the bloody hell, _Mags?_ " Iggy said, astounded. He had taken to using her brother's nickname for her. It was a form of teasing that stuck. "You're just going to dump us like that?"

"It's me Regis is after, not you lot. I can't ask any of you to risk your lives for my mistake," Margaret explained, looking around at each of them. "It's my fault we're in this mess. I never should have accepted Barbossa's deal."

"Well, that is your job, isn't it?" Oscar said. "To accept deals? To lead us?"

"Sure, but I've almost lead you straight to your deaths. You don't deserve that," Margaret said earnestly.

"Deserve or not, the choice to follow you is ours," Isabelle said. "We all saw what that man can do. We are in this together now, no?"

"She's right, do you really think we'd just up and leave you when the going got tough?" Clyde said.

Margaret looked at Rita for help, who shrugged.

"You hired a load of fighters, Margaret," She said. "Not cowards."

"Cowards or not," Margaret said, exasperated. "You don't owe me anything. There'd be no shame in taking your cut and moving on."

"There'd be shame in leaving the woman who hasn't steered us wrong yet," Oswald contended. "Besides, if it comes to a fight with this Regis fellow, it'd be less competition for us. Might even score some of his bounty."

"That's _if_ we stood a chance against him," Margaret protested, but she was beginning to see that her crew was just as stubborn as her.

"That settles it, then," Clyde said, standing up from his hammock. "We see this thing through to the end."

Rita couldn't help but laugh.

"We lucked out with you lot," She grinned. "You could have been nasty pirates who turned on us at the first sign of trouble."

Everyone turned to Margaret, who was wearing an odd expression.

"Well, then," She said quietly, looking pale. "As you were."

Without another word she turned on her heel and raced out. The others exchanged confused glances.

"Think she's just overcome with emotion?" Oscar joked.

"I don't think so," Rita muttered, getting to her feet. "I'll see to her. You all ought to go above deck, get some sword practice in before the sun's too high."

Rita found Margaret in alone in the tiny kitchen, her head thrust out an open window. Rita knew at once why her friend had rushed off when she heard the unmistakable sounds of vomiting coming from outside. Thankfully, the cook was nowhere in sight. Rita stepped in quietly, shutting the door behind her, and waited for Margaret's violent heaving to cease.

"Seasick, are we?" Rita startled Margaret, who lurched upright so suddenly she almost bumped her head.

The women glared at each other, Margaret taking time to slow her breathing down to normal.

"I s'ppose," She said, picking up a dirty rag from the counter to wipe her mouth.

"You've never been seasick a day in your life," Rita said. Her voice was accusatory, though she wasn't sure where her anger was coming from. She had seen this sickness in women she had lived with on the Cove, and knew it could only mean one thing. "How long have you known?"

"Known what?" Margaret asked, looking away.

"Don't you dare play stupid, here, Margaret! This is serious," Rita restrained herself from yelling. "You…I mean, you can't be…"

"What? Go ahead, say it!" Margaret said. Rita could see tears forming in her eyes, though very seldom was Margaret weepy. "I can't be pregnant. Is that it?"

Rita bit her lip. She couldn't even picture Margaret with a baby, let alone one of her own. Now, in the midst of being chased by a madman, she had gotten herself knocked up.

"You really are?" Rita asked. "You're sure?"

"I…suspected, for a bit," Margaret admitted. "But I didn't want to believe it."

Rita shared the lack of enthusiasm. She had seen it happen with other women. A child meant their perilous careers came to an end. A child meant they would be domesticated. It was a life that Margaret was ill-suited for, a life she never wanted, and it was because of this that Rita was more contentious than comforting.

"Does _he_ know?" She jerked her head in the direction of the captain's quarters.

"Of course not. He'd never let me stay aboard. No one can know."

"It won't be long before you won't be able to hide it."

"It'll be enough time for me to figure something out."

"He did this to you," Rita muttered, rage firing up once more. "I told you to be careful with him! I warned you!"

Margaret rounded on Rita, throwing the rag at her feet.

"For Gods' sake, would you _please_ stop acting like I've been cursed? It's a child, not a malady." She sank against the counter, folding her arms tightly in front of her stomach.

Rita's expression softened. She walked over and pulled Margaret into a firm embrace. She was reminded of the old days, when it was just the two of them. Rita had always been her faithful adviser, trying to keep her out of too much trouble. This, however, was trouble that she couldn't have foreseen. Everything would change, now, and though Rita was afraid, she knew Margaret was even more so.

"What am I going to do?" Margaret whispered into her friend.

"I don't know," Rita said honestly. "But I'll take care of you. Both of you. I promise."


	15. Magic and Might

Margaret swore Rita to secrecy. Acting as though everything was normal was no trouble for either of them, but Margaret wished Rita would stop casting her anxious glances when she thought she wasn't looking. She had tried her best to keep distant from Hector, and he responded in kind, though it was unavoidable for the two leaders to converse.

"Still don't know who our mole might be?" Margaret asked as she approached Hector the next afternoon.

What they hadn't been able to solve yet was how Regis knew they were coming. The only logical explanation was that one of their men had betrayed them, but the night after they escaped Tortuga, Hector conducted a somewhat violent investigation of his men to determine who snitched. Even with threat of death, no one confessed, leaving it a mystery.

"I'm chalking it up to a drunken slip of the tongue," Hector said, examining his fingernails. "'less ye think any o' yers are responsible?"

Margaret, too, had searched her men for answers, but she was not inclined to believe that any of her crew would betray her.

"None of 'em have got pirate ties," She replied. "It can't have been them."

"Still, I hate to think we been splittin' bread with a traitor," Hector sighed. "But there be more important things to worry about at the moment. Nothing to do but hope whoever it was don't cut our throats in the night."

"It'd be a mercy compared to what Regis has planned for us," Margaret said darkly.

Hector chuckled. He was always amused by her foul moods, which surprisingly had the power to make her feel better.

"Don't be so keen on dyin' just yet," He said. He reached out to run his hand down her arm, but she recoiled. He looked at her, in sad confusion. "Something I said? Or have ye not yet forgiven me?"

Margaret avoided his gaze. Now was a chance to tell him, when they were alone on the deck. Instead, however, she took his hand in hers and forced a smile.

"I'm fine," She said with false cheeriness. "I mean, you're fine. I'm not upset, I just…haven't been myself lately."

Hector seemed to accept this.

"Well, nothin' wrong with not being yerself all the time."

With a nod, he left her. She felt torn, debating about whether he had any right to know, what it would mean if he knew, and how much she wanted to tell him regardless. He had been right, though. There were more important things to worry about.

When at last they arrived in Singapore, everyone was more than grateful to see land. It was by far the grandest place Margaret and Rita had ever seen. Everything from the buildings to the people walking along the streets were lavish in display, though the place did not strike them as particularly wealthy. Dark canals provided easy travel throughout the large island, and it was using them that they made their way. Hector seemed to know exactly where they were going. It was only him, Margaret, and two of his crew who set out to find the witch. The rest remained near the docks, keeping an eye out in case they were followed and stationing themselves at a bayside tavern. Rita wanted to come, too, but Hector had argued that a smaller company would bring better fortune when seeking out the witch.

They squeezed into a tiny gondola, left unattended in the water. Hector steered them to a busy part of the town, stopping in front of a tiny shop with paper lanterns dancing in the windows.

"Not very remote, this witch," Margaret noted. "You've met her before?"

"Never myself," Hector admitted. "We have a mutual…acquaintance."

Margaret took his word for it. Ages ago, she would have disapproved of anyone who called themselves a witch. She'd spent much of her life disbelieving in mysticism, but after her trials in Circe's workshop she knew magic existed. That didn't make it any less terrifying, but it also gave her some hope that this person would be able to help them. They entered the dim shop, which was completely empty except for the massive shelves of ornaments and gaudy souvenirs, and an old woman in red robes standing behind a counter.

Hector sauntered up to her.

"I'm here for Shansa," He spoke quietly but clearly to the old woman. "I'm in need of her assistance." She just stared blankly at him.

"What if she don't speak English?" One of the pirates said, annoyed.

Hector rolled his eyes at his man's impatience and leaned in closer to the woman.

"Shansa," He repeated. "Tia Dalma told me this is where I could find her."

For a moment, Margaret was sure the woman still didn't understand him, but suddenly she gave a curt nod and walked over to a large curtain against the back wall. She pulled it open, sending a cloud of dust sputtering into the air. It hardly made sense for an often used entrance to be layered in grime, but Margaret thought perhaps it was a magic used to make it less noticeable. Behind the curtain was a dark doorway embedded in the stone. Hector moved to go through it, followed by Margaret and his men, but the old woman held up a hand to stop them.

"Only one," She said in a deep accent, holding up a finger.

Margaret flared up at once.

"Not a chance, I'm coming, too," She said, walking forward behind Hector. The woman put her arm out in front of her with an intense glare.

"Stay here and wait for my return," Hector said. With a look meant just for Margaret, he added, "I swear to ye, it'll be done."

He disappeared into the darkness. They listened to his footsteps clomping down a set of stairs, then silence. Trying to keep her cool, Margaret sighed and turned to the old woman.

"How well do you know the witch?" Margaret asked her. The woman replied with another deadpan stare. She couldn't tell if she didn't understand, or if she simply thought it was a foolish question.

"Knew I should've learned another language," One of the pirates said. "But they told me soon the whole world would only speak in one tongue."

"Whoever told you that must've been impossibly self-centered," Margaret said flatly. "Or just stupid."

They waited for what felt like an hour before Hector appeared in the curtained doorway once more. He wasn't alone. Behind him was a young woman, her face covered in scars that were so ornately carved they must have been intentional. Her smile reminded Margaret eerily of the tales of sea nymphs, beautiful tricksters who were known for their cunning plots to lead men astray. She was small, but strength emanated from her like an aura, and Margaret felt uneasy.

"It is done," She spoke in a delicate snake-like hiss. "Morgana will see you out."

The old woman approached the group and began to usher them slowly out of the shop.

"I'll be needin' a drink after this, Cap'n," laughed a pirate. "We'll head to the tavern for a pint before we set off, eh?"

Hector looked dazed, still standing by the curtains and the witch. He nodded, and the pirates began filing outside at the firm order of Morgana. Margaret, however, went right up to Hector and Shansa with a blazing look in her eyes.

"So? What did you do to it?"

"It's gone," Hector said, returning to normal. "That's the main thing."

"Just like that?" Margaret turned on the witch. "Free of charge?"

To her surprise, the witch laughed.

"Captain Barbossa will pay his price in due time. And I welcome chances like these to rid the world of destructive mortal magic."

Margaret caught Hector's eye. He looked back reassuringly, though she could not bring herself to trust the witch.

"How did you do it?"

Shansa looked at Hector, her sly smile never ceasing.

"Why don't you join your men, Captain? I wouldn't mind a chat with Miss…?"

"Smyth. Margaret Smyth."

Hector seemed reluctant at first, but with a brisk nod, he meandered out the door.

"Meet us at the ship, Smyth," He ordered before he exited. "We'll fetch the others. Don't be long."

Shansa seemed to be sizing Margaret up. With a smirk, she grabbed hold of her hand. Margaret leapt back, shocked at how cold her touch felt.

"Do you want to hear your future, girlie?" The witch asked, a gleam in her eye.

"Not really, no," Margaret said truthfully. "Tell me what happened to Circe's potion."

"A magic like that cannot be simply destroyed," she said, nonchalantly. "It must be diluted until ineffective. Lucky for you, I have all the right potencies."

"So…it still exists?"

"Yes," The witch walked over to a cabinet behind the counter and pulled out two tea cups. "But it can't hurt anyone anymore. And it'll remain here with me. Morgana, is the kettle still hot?"

The old woman bustled over with a teapot that seemed to come from nowhere, and poured hot water into each of the cups.

"Tea, Smyth?" Shansa asked.

"No, er, thank you," Margaret said. "Look, even with the potion gone, we've got someone after us who's swords—"

"As I told Barbossa, it will wear off in time," The witch's voice had the slighted hint of impatience. "He was right to bring it to me. Magic today is nowhere near as powerful. What a relic from the past…I was almost sad to corrupt it."

Margaret gave the witch a cold, appraising look.

"Yes, well, thank you for your…services," She said, taking a few steps back. "I best be off."

She turned to leave, but the witch's icy hand clasped onto hers yet again.

"Sure you don't want to hear your future? It is my specialty," The witch said with a wicked grin. "Barbossa leapt at the opportunity."

"I prefer to leave most things a surprise," Margaret said dully, ripping her hand from her grip.

"What about your daughter's?"

Margaret stopped short. She knew the witch was trying to get her to stay, but for what reason she could not say. Yet, her interested had at last been piqued.

"Daughter?" She said quietly. "How did you even know I was…? Never mind," She shook her head and let out an exasperated chuckle. "Witch. Of course you would know."

"What do you say?"

Margaret looked out the window of the shop. Hector and the other pirates were already further down the street. They wouldn't know if she was gone a few more minutes longer... The witch took her silence as an agreement. She held out her hand for Margaret to take.

"Come with me," she said, opening the curtain with her free hand.

Margaret hesitated, looking deep into the un-telling eyes of Shansa.

"You're afraid of me," Shansa noted, tilting her head like a curious cat.

"Not afraid," Margaret lied. "Just…cautious."

Without another word, she was led down into the dark. It turned out to be a cramped back room just a few steps from the main shop. There were no windows, but there was a small wooden door in the corner that presumably led to some back alley. It wasn't at all what Margaret was expecting, no burning cauldrons or bubbling potions. Just a modest fireplace, a work bench, and book shelves. There were wall hangings scattered about with writing in what looked like ancient runes.

The witch immediately went to tend the smoldering fire, enlivening the embers into flames. Margaret looked about the room, beginning to regret her decision.

"You didn't, uh," She began, breaking the silence. "You didn't tell Hector, did you? About…you know."

Margaret was sure she must have known from the instant they walked in the shop. The witch didn't have to come up with Hector, but something told Margaret she had wanted to meet her.

"He did not ask, so I didn't not tell," Shansa replied with a smile. "The man was only concerned with the status of his fame and fortune.

"That sounds like him," Margaret muttered. "So, a daughter, then? I can't decide if that's a relief or a curse."

"Come and see for yourself."

The witch stood back from the fire and beckoned Margaret to come closer.

"What do you want in return for this?"

"You, my dear, owe me nothing."

Again, Margaret didn't quite believe her, but she followed her directions and knelt in front of the small inferno. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to be seeing as she stared into the dancing flames. She was about to scoff at the witch when all of a sudden an image burst into her mind. It was of a young girl sitting under a tree, her nose in a book. She had dark curls and pursed lips, and everything about her was precious. She smiled at something on the page, a familiar crooked smile that filled Margaret's heart with warmth. The sunlight danced on her freckles, and the smile turned into a laugh. Margaret had only a few moments of the vision before it abruptly burst with a crackle in the fire.

"Show me more," She whispered to the witch, but Shansa was staring expectantly at the door.

"I think not." Her lips curled into a twisted smile once more, just as the door burst open. There stood Regis with two men, swords already unsheathed.

"There was no need to break my door, Captain," Shansa scolded.

"Apologies, witch," Regis said, entering the room. His two men converged on Margaret before she could react, tying her wrists with unnecessary force. "And thank you. For the girl." He tossed a satchel of coins to her. With one last smile at Margaret, she retreated up the steps and back into the shop.

Margaret felt stupid for even daring to have faith in the witch. A fortune teller would surely have been able to predict their arrival, and easily betrayed them to the dread pirate. She glared at Regis, hatred making flames in her eyes like the ones in the fireplace.

"If you want to kill me, I wish you'd just get it over with," She said, wrestling against her binding.

"Don't fret, the time will come soon enough. But for now, I need you," Regis sneered. "I'll give you one chance to end this all now. Where is the potion?"

Margaret didn't bother to hide her confusion.

"Gone. Destroyed. Why do you think we came here?" She said.

"Don't _lie_ to me!" Regis struck her across the face. The sting only made her angrier but she kept her mouth shut. "I _know_ Barbossa has it on him, the witch herself told me all about your plot. You planned to trick me, but unfortunately his alliance with the witch didn't weigh much against my gold."

"Trick you? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Perhaps you truly don't know," Regis said, raising his eyebrows. "It was a ploy. He came here to make me _think_ he had destroyed it, while he escaped with the vial. Once we arrived in Singapore, the witch sought us out, and told us of her predictions. I told her if they turned out to be true, I'd pay her well. And, here we are."

"How did you even know we were coming here?"

"You haven't worked it out yet? You have a traitor in your midst. He left word of your course with the harbormaster before you departed from Tortuga. Right under your noses, can you believe it?"

Unfortunately, Margaret could believe it. Had their luck truly run out? Had it all been a massive waste of time? Was the potion still out there, carried by Hector himself? His betrayal stung worse than her cheek.

"I _will_ have that potion back, see. And I think you might just be the right hostage for negotiation," Regis continued.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're a captain in your own right, no? Your crew will surely bargain for you. Not to mention old Barbossa's affections will play out in our favor."

Margaret's jaw tensed. She didn't want to know how he had guessed that they had anything more than a professional relationship.

"You overestimate his humanity," she said. "He'd take revenge over my life any day."

"We'll see. Take her back to the ship."

Margaret fought with every free limb she had, but with no weapons she was no match. One of her captors clocked her on the head with the hilt of his sword, sending her into unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, Rita was waiting nervously at the tavern with the pirates and smugglers. Too much time had passed for things to have all gone according to plan. She was the only one worrying, however. The others were enjoying themselves with drinks and dancing. Rita was about to voice her concerns to Clyde when Hector stormed through the door, his men following in close order. She raced up to him.

"Get everyone to the ship," He said before she could open her mouth. "The witch informed me that Regis is heading for the island. Don't know how long we've got."

"Where's Margaret?" Rita asked hurriedly.

"I told her to meet us at the ship. She stayed to talk with the witch."

"You left her alone with a witch? Anything could have happened to her!" Rita was furious, but she didn't have time to yell at Hector. Another familiar face ran through the door. It was Charlie. Regis' men weren't headed to the island, after all. They were already there.

All the pirates immediately rounded on him and drew their pistols. He held up his hands, panting as though he'd run a long way.

"I'm here as a friend, I swear!" He said. "Rita, you're Rita, right?" He appealed to Rita, who was also aiming her gun at his head.

"Yes?"

"They're taking Margaret. As a hostage. They're going to use her to trade for the potion. I…I couldn't stop them myself, so I came to you. They don't know I'm here." His breath was staggered.

"What do you mean?" Rita turned to Hector. "You got rid of the potion, didn't you?"

Hector sighed and pulled out a tiny vial of black liquid from his coat pocket.

"You damned pirate, you've doomed us all!" Rita lunged at him, but was held back by two of Hector's men.

"It's not what ye think! It's a fake. Given to me by the witch after she took the real thing. She told me that so long as Regis thought we had it, he would keep us alive until he discovered otherwise. That way we would do battle as equals. That way we have leverage."

"Keeping us alive for now won't help if we have to face him anyway!" Rita spat.

"She prophesized that when it came to battle, we would triumph. I believe her," Hector said simply. "Although she did lie about when Regis would be arriving…"

"This is just about your thirst for revenge, isn't it? You couldn't stand to see this end without bloodshed, and now Margaret has to pay the price—"

"Don't dare presume to know my motives!" He bellowed.

"Forgive me," Charlie interjected. "But we haven't much time. You need to get out of here, get a head start at sea. I can look after Margaret until we catch up to you. Rita," He added gently. "He holds a grudge, Regis. If you had ever met again, he would surely have killed you all, with or without the potion."

"But perhaps he wouldn't have been actively hunting us," growled Rita, but she let it go. "Let's get to the ship, then. And Charlie," She nodded at him. "Thank you."

He returned the nod, and rushed back out of the tavern.

"Think we can trust him?" Hector asked Rita quietly as they moved towards the door.

"He loves his sister. We can trust him."

The others gathered and headed for the docks. Fortunately, Regis hadn't returned and they were able to lift anchor without a hitch. Before they boarded, Rita pulled Hector back.

"I'm warning you, Barbossa," She threatened. "If anything happens to Margaret, anything at all, you'll have hell to pay."

Hector bore a wrathful grimace before turning his back to her.

"I won't be the only one, lass. Ye can be sure of that."


	16. Fight of the Righteous

Margaret awoke with a splitting headache. She pressed one palm to her temple, the jangling on her wrist making her aware that she was shackled to the floor. As her blurred vision began to clear, she could make out the cast iron bars that enclosed her. The creaking and rocking of her surroundings nauseated her, and she was fearful that she would be violently sick. She didn't want to seem any weaker than she already was. Just like that, she'd ended up a prisoner on Regis' ship. She'd never forgive her stupidity.

Margaret tried slowly to get to her feet, but the dizziness kept her down. She leaned her cheek on the moist wall and tried to get a look at the sea through a crack. Nothing but white. She cringed as another wave of pain rolled through her, and she inadvertently clutched at her abdomen. If Regis' capture had caused her to lose her unborn child…yet another reason for him to be placed at the top of her kill list. Yet she knew what she saw in the flames, not hours earlier. A girl. _Her_ girl. Happy. Healthy. Alive. She had seemed so real to Margaret, that nothing would ever convince her that the vision was not fact. Still, hope was draining from her fast. Even though Regis planned to use her for a bargaining chip, the man's ruthlessness suggested he would not be so merciful once he had the death potion in his hands.

As if her thoughts had been read, she heard the hatch up above open and a few pairs of footsteps stomped down towards her. It was none other than Christopher Regis himself, accompanied by his rat-like boatswain and a large pirate who was severely tattooed. Regis bore a pleasant smile as he looked down on Margaret cowering in the cell.

"Not very comfortable, is it? My sincerest apologies," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He slipped two fingers through a square in the bars and pulled himself closer to get a better look at her. "Your brother has been asking to see you, poor lad. He's a good pirate, but I fear his for his loyalties. He's very protective of you, as any sibling should be, but alas his usefulness is waning as a result."

"Don't you hurt him!" Margaret lunged towards the man, but the chains tugged her back to the floor.

"Keep calm, Smyth, keep calm. I'm not here to threaten, nor to beset. I just want to talk."

Margaret watched him, cold fury in her stare. He signaled for the tattooed pirate to open the cell. The bars creaked open, and he walked inside. The other two fell back, staying just outside the cell on either side. Margaret scrambled to her feet, trying to get on as equal a level as she could with the pirate.

"You know, I'm not an evil man," Regis began. He ignored Margaret's disgusted scoff. "I've always been a simple pirate, with a simple aim. To seek a fortune for me and my crew the best way I knew how. I was never infamous, or even well-known. I had no interest in being part of the Brethren Court like your captain friend, or following any sort of code. I was a free man."

He chuckled, leaning back against the wall and staring off into space.

"My son, though, he was always interested in lore, and tales of buccaneers. His uncle, my brother and retired captain of _The Ranger_ , had filled his head with nonsense stories of pirate lords, sea goddesses and the pieces of eight. He begged me to let him to sail on my ship as a cabin boy. When he turned ten, I finally agreed. He was so pleased, from the moment he set foot aboard. "

His smile faded into a stony expression. He still was looking away from Margaret, speaking at the wall as though she wasn't even there.

"While inland making a sale, half of my crew was captured and imprisoned by the East India Trading Company. My boy included," He said softly, "They were taken to Fort Charles. Sentenced to death. Can you imagine? He was only a child."

A wave of unexpected sympathy hit Margaret like a ton of bricks. She refused to look at Regis, for she knew he was anticipating a sign that the story had moved her. It had to be some emotional game he was playing. Yet she saw him wringing his hands in distress at the memory, and the pang she felt was inescapable.

"I could have gone mad, sure. I could have attempted to take down as many of Lord Beckett's forces as I could, in revenge, but I was smarter than that. Instead, I lay low, awaiting the right moment. As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long. When Beckett was defeated, I began to get my life back together. I found a new crew. Took on a new ship, even. It was by luck that I decided to pursue Barbossa's treasure. I was merely bent on killing my enemies, but as a good captain I recognized that my crew needed to be rewarded. We overheard of the treasure's whereabouts, and set off to claim it. At first, my men were somewhat disappointed. It was a small haul, though all valuable in quality. One of my men found the potion first. He drank from the bottle, thinking it was an extravagant liquor. The moment it touched his lips…well, it was all over. The fear I saw in my men's eyes did not sway me. I knew it was destiny that _I_ should wield such a weapon. I succeeded in destroying every Trading Company ship that crossed my path, eliminating evil and providing for my crew. I was unstoppable." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "I have been fighting righteously, Miss Smyth. The magic of that potion has never been wasted or misused in my control."

Regis fell silent, finally turning to face Margaret. His face was blank and unreadable, but she sensed he believed in every word he'd said. She narrowed her eyes.

"Why…why are you telling me all this?" She asked quietly.

Regis moved towards her, lifting her chin with his gloved hand and forcing their eyes to lock.

"To make you think very carefully about the answer you're about to give me," He said silkily. "I am not the enemy. There are _real_ monsters out there who yearn to destroy people like us. With magic on our sides, we'd sail the seas free of fear. We would never be hunted, like animals, ever again," He took a breath. "So, I'm only going to ask this once. _Where is the workshop hidden?_ "

Circe's workshop. He had somehow found out where his precious potion originated. What's worse, he knew there were more like it out there. Margaret's heartbeat quickened.

"What makes you think I have any idea what you're talking about?" She asked, though her voice quavered.

"I don't have time to play this game with you. The witch told me who you are, the one bestowed with the knowledge of where to find the ancient magic-a magic that cannot be replicated even with today's sorcery," Regis said. Margaret sighed, almost amused at how far the witch's betrayal had gone. "Smyth, _think_ for a moment about what we could do with that kind of power. No more watching our friends and family stand at the gallows. No more hiding. No more silly quarrels between those who _should_ be on the same side. Make no mistake, we should be on the same side."

"Beckett was destroyed, and his crusade ended. You say you crave revenge, yet you will never be satisfied! You killed a man in cold blood the first day we met," Margaret said.

"The crusade against our kind will never truly end. It can't. Believe me, I will stop at _nothing_ to have the power to defend myself and to kill those who would do only the same to me. Anyone who received my bottled hell had it coming. You have two options now," Regis spoke in a dangerous voice. "You can help me, and gain all the power you can imagine, or you can die alongside your pirate and smuggler playmates. Either way I'll get my potion back, but your fate is in your hands. You and I…we can make a better world."

Margaret could not seriously ponder it. While the future of her child may have depended on it, all she could think about was the look on Morgan's face all those years ago, as she rotted into nothing at Margaret's hand.

"You and I have very different ideas of what a better world would look like, Regis," She murmured. "And I'd die before I help you carry out yours."

Regis' face twisted into anger. He looked as though he might hit her again, but before he could, another pair of footsteps hustled down the steps.

"Sir!" Said a young pirate, approaching Regis' men outside the cell. "We've caught sight of the Pearl!"

"Finally," Regis muttered. He gave one last cruel smirk to Margaret before hurrying out of the cell. The men shut the bars and locked her in again. "Don't worry, Smyth," He said from outside. "It'll all be over soon."

With that, Margaret was left alone once more.

Meanwhile, the Black Pearl had become aware of their pursuer. Hector stood at the helm, barking orders at the harried crew while giving the wheel a swift turn.

"Load the canons, ye grimy gits! And prepare to come about, on me mark!"

Rita looked up from her spyglass.

"They're hot on our tail, now. I thought this was the fastest ship at sea," She said starkly.

"Aye, but we're not tryin' to outrun 'em, are we?" Hector replied with a grin.

"So we just fight and hope to survive?"

"That'd about be the plan."

At that moment, the pirate Pintel came onto the upper deck, followed by Oscar and Oswald.

"Found 'em, Captain!" Pintel said cheerfully, nudging the twins forward.

"Boys," Hector said seriously. "As far as I can tell, ye've got a knack for explosives. Am I right?"

The twins exchanged a look, then nodded.

"How much do ye have left aboard my ship?"

Oscar swallowed.

"Plenty, sir," He said with a quaky smile.

"Enough to sink a brigantine?"

Rita looked concerned.

"Your plan is to explode Regis' ship?" She asked incredulously. "Is that even possible?"

Hector didn't reply, but instead awaited a response from the twins.

"Sure," Oswald said. "But we would have to set up the rig from the ship itself."

"A simple canon fire would be enough to set it off, though," Oscar added.

"Excellent," Hector said. "They're sure to board when they get close enough. When they do, one of you will swing over to set it into place. When the time is right, I'll give ye the signal to light it from the Pearl's canons."

"When Margaret's back safely on board, you mean," Rita said coldly.

Hector turned to her.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking yer the only one who cares what happens to her," He said menacingly. "She'll be back aboard in no time, if Regis truly wants to use her in a trade. Now, you two," He faced the twins again. "Get to work. Ye may be our biggest hope if things turn sour."

"Right away, sir!" Oscar said, with Oswald nodding beside him. They ran off below deck, leaving Rita and Hector alone at the helm. The monkey, Jack, hopped on Hector's shoulder, giving Rita an appraising look.

"They don't mind taking orders from me as much as ye seem to," Hector said as Rita returned to peering through her spyglass.

"I don't doubt your abilities as a captain, _sir_ ," Rita said. "Just your morality."

"Pirate," Hector reminded her. "Besides, we all do terrible things in the name of good. That's just human nature. That's just survival."

"I suppose your right," Rita conceded. "I doubt I'm one to talk of morals when I lead a similar life of crime. Still, I like to think I'm less thrilled about carnage and battle than you all are."

"'Tis fine not to be thrilled 'bout it, but there are times when it's a necessary measure. Quit pretending ye don't want to see Regis dead as much as I do."

It was true. Though she hardly knew the man, everything about him sparked a monster in her chest that longed to see him suffer. From his murder of innocents, to his capture of Margaret, she wanted to make Regis pay. It was an illogical lust, but strong nonetheless.

She said nothing, though, not wanting to give Hector the satisfaction of being right. She walked down the steps to find her sword and her pistol, readying herself for war. Isabelle, Clyde, and Iggy were doing the same.

Rita no longer needed a scope to see Regis' ship. It approached fast, cutting like a knife through the mist that layered the water's surface.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends," She sighed.

Margaret had just fallen into a light sleep when she heard the first canon fire. It had to have been from Regis' ship, as she didn't feel anything make contact. Above, the shouts of men grew louder and wilder. Another canon blast. This time, the boat shook furiously, and she knew the Pearl was striking back. She yanked helplessly at her chains and looked around desperately for a means of escape. She looked down at her dress, and saw a pin from her bodice sticking outwardly. If she could just reach it, it would be a perfect lock pick…

Her hands too restrained to grasp it, she bent over and attempted to pry it loose with her mouth. Her attempts were interrupted, however, by the sound of footsteps. She braced herself, ready to kick whoever came her way. However, it was a friendly face that pressed itself against the bars.

"Charlie!" Margaret exclaimed. "What's going on? What's happened?"

Charlie unlocked the door and ran in to hug his sister.

"The Valiant and The Black Pearl are already locked in battle," He said, releasing her from the hand shackles. Margaret rubbed her wrists gratefully. "I…I'm afraid I've been sent down here to bring you up to Regis. He's going to cross over with you and make parlay."

"I'm not about to let him get that potion," Margaret said fiercely. "Step aside, Charlie."

She started forward, intending to go around her brother, but he grabbed onto her shoulders.

"Mags, listen to me. The real potion is gone. It's a decoy," He said. Margaret looked too confused to trust his words. "I saw Barbossa and your crew before leaving Singapore. That witch gave him a replica, something to use for bargaining."

The witch was on their side after all. Or, at least she hadn't been entirely against them. And Hector…she'd misjudged him, yet again. Margaret gripped Charlie with equal force.

"But what's to stop him from killing us all once he's got the damn thing?"

"That's what I need to tell you," Charlie said. "Regis plans to leave peacefully, once you make the trade. At least, that's what he wants it to look like. When you've lowered your defenses, and he and his men are back aboard The Valiant, he's going to blast The Pearl out of the water."

"Why not just kill us all now, in a fair fight?" Margaret rolled her eyes.

" _Winning_ is his idea of fair," Charlie said with a sad smile. "When the deal is finished, I'll help you get back over here. That way you'll be safe. I'd have helped you escape earlier if I thought it would help you survive…but he was expecting me to. Had eyes on me the whole time." he added wryly.

"If you think I wouldn't go down with my crew, then you don't know me at all," Margaret said coolly. Charlie looked hurt, but understood.

"Then…at least you know. You can warn Barbossa and fight it out. Just promise me," He said. "Promise me you'll stay safe."

Margaret gave her brother a weak smile. She kissed him on the cheek and he sighed.

"God, you look so much like mother," He said quietly. "I don't know if you even remember what she looked like…"

"I remember."

With one final hug, Charlie took a deep breath and led Margaret out of the brig and up into the chaos that had taken hold of the deck. Men were swinging across onto the Pearl, and carrying cannonballs to the gun deck. Smoke filled the air and the sound of the blasts were deafening. Regis burst out from the main cabin and stalked up to Charlie and Margaret. He grabbed Margaret roughly by the arm, and tied her wrists again with a bit of rope.

"For my own protection, of course," Regis smiled. "Good work, Smyth, my boy. Stay here and man the helm. Kill anyone that crosses over."

Charlie gave a curt nod, and cast a plaintive look at his sister before returning to his duties.

"Not a very sentimental lad, your brother," chuckled Regis. "Come, my lady. Off we pop."

A plank was carried forth by a set of pirates, who threw it over the side of the ship. It just barely touched the edge of the Pearl. They were close enough so that Margaret could clearly see the deck of the Pearl, and the men fighting. Some had already fallen, either turning into gray husks on the bloody floorboards, or lying with gaping wounds. Rita was dueling with a pirate twice her size, and Hector was fighting two at once up by the helm.

Regis pushed her forward onto the long board. He drew his sword and guided her forward with his blade dangerously close to her back. When they reached the side of the Pearl, he held it against her throat.

"STOP!" He commanded.

Slowly, the fighting died down. When weapons had been lowered, Regis hopped onto the deck, Margaret still firmly in his clutch.

"This doesn't have to continue, Barbossa!" Regis called out. "Your men don't stand a chance against my weapons. But I am merciful. The girl," He gave Margaret a violent shake. "For the potion. And we promise to leave in peace."

"Ye call this _peace_ , Regis? Ye hunt us down, slaughter us, and all for a foul potion that's made ye mad," Hector shouted from the upper deck.

"You're in no position to accuse me of treachery. I know you want it all for yourself, but I'm afraid you lost that chance long ago. Look where it got you. Even _you_ couldn't have anticipated the lengths I would go to protect my power. You severely underestimated me," He laughed. "And I suppose I _over_ estimated you. Tell me, did you ever find my mole?"

After a moment of awkward silence, he cackled.

"Don't be shy, then, lad, come forward!" He said, pointing into the throng. "Show them who you truly are."

Iggy staggered to the front of the crowd, falling to his knees in front of Regis. He didn't dare look Margaret in the eyes.

"Iggy?" Clyde pushed forward to watch his friend. "No, it can't be!"

"You and I met years ago, didn't we, _Iggy_?" Regis said, lifting his blade away from Margaret's throat and towards Iggy's. "The only survivor on a company naval ship I cut off. The only one I _allowed_ to live. You turned out to be useful after all."

Iggy looked up. He turned his head towards Clyde and the others.

"Look, I swear, I didn't mean to…He knows where my family lives….I've kept them safe all this time. But he made me report whatever I could find out about smuggling and trading routes in the Caribbean. I…I was to continue t-to serve as a sailor and collect information from each crew I served on. A-and when I found out we were going after him, I thought…I had to tell him. If-if he knew I was involved he might go after my Winona! I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Tears began to stream down his face. Regis sighed, and without warning, he drove the sword deep into Iggy's chest.

"No!" Margaret cried out, but it was far too late.

"There. That's a win for us both. Your traitor is dead, and so is a piece of navy scum," Regis wiped his blade on the edge of the ship. He turned back to Hector. "I'm a man of my word. I haven't proven that wrong yet. Give me the vial, and I will take my leave. We will continue on as not rivals, nor allies. Just two crews who share the seas."

Hector slipped the vial from his coat and held it up.

"Release the girl first," He said.

Regis shrugged and pushed Margaret forward roughly. Clyde caught her in his arms, though both were weak. Hector sauntered down to Regis, and extended the potion in his hand. Regis plucked the vial from him and looked at it with a satisfied smile.

"Men, back to the ship," He ordered. With one final nod to Barbossa, he hopped back onto the plank that led to _The Valiant_. Regis was followed by his pirates, and soon the Pearl was clear of them.

Immediately, Margaret rushed to Hector.

"He's going to attack," she said quickly. "We have to get out of here now, he'll make it look like they're taking off but he's going to turn and shoot with everything he's got. And I don't know how many more canons the Pearl can take, do you?"

There wasn't a moment to doubt her. Hector turned to his men.

"Reload the canons! Anything and everything we've got!"

"Or we can outrun them! Let's get moving, we can catch a wind!" Margaret urged.

Hector looked at her, darkness in his eyes.

"We're endin' this. Now."

He started back towards the helm. Oscar and Oswald appeared from the top deck.

"Sir! The rigging is in place, we can get a clean shot before they even cast off," Oscar said.

"Rigging? What rigging?" Margaret hurried over, followed by a wary looking Rita.

"They set up a series of explosive on Regis' ship during the battle," Rita explained. "One light and the thing is sunk."

Margaret looked frantically at _The Valiant._ It was just starting to pull away, though she knew it wouldn't be long before it attacked. She also knew that an explosion of the twins' creation would destroy just about everyone on board.

"Charlie is on that ship," She said quietly.

"Regrettable, yes," Hector said impatiently. "But I'm afraid I'm chosin' our own lives over the boy's. Get down to the canons," He told the twins. "Wait for my signal. Unless you get a clear shot first…then take it."

"No! Please, I need time, I can go save him-"Margaret rushed forward, but Hector held her back. Oscar and Oswald ran below deck, throwing apologetic looks at their leader.

"I will not let ye jeopardize me ship for a single man!" Hector said.

"You can't! You'll…you'll be just as bad as Regis!"

"At least I won't be dead!"

Part of Margaret knew she was acting irrationally, but all she could think about was Charlie's smiling face and the fate that would soon befall him. She had to do _something_. Breaking free of Hector's grasp, she ran up to the deck, searching for a rope to swing over on.

"Stop her!" Hector bellowed. "She must not leave the ship!"

"Margaret, please!" Rita called.

Pintel and Ragetti were close enough to grab onto Margaret just as she took hold of the rope. They dragged her back to Hector, though she managed to get in a few fair punches at her restrainers. Panting, she knew she'd been beaten. But Charlie, she had to save Charlie…

"Lock her in the cabin. Make sure she stays there 'til it's done," Hector ordered the men.

Margaret looked at Hector, for the first time with pure hatred swimming in her eyes. He turned away, unable to withstand her dagger-like stare. He had to hold fast to his choice.

As Margaret was taken away to yet another prison, Rita turned on Hector.

"Is that really necessary?" She snapped.

"It's for her own good, and ye know it," He said sharply. "Yer welcome to join her, Miss, if ye think she's right. So let's get things straight right now. Are ye with me on this?"

Rita swallowed. It wasn't like Margaret to behave so rashly. Rita had always been Margaret's greatest defender, but for the first time she couldn't stand by her. She had to survive.

"I'm with you," She said quietly, praying Margaret would forgive her in time. "Sir."

The two ran off to the helm. _The Valiant_ was still in perfect range. Hector turned to his crew.

"FIRE!" He shouted.

"FIRE!" Rita echoed.

From within the cabin, Margaret could hear the glorious explosion. She felt the blowback rock the ship violently. As the Black Pearl glided forward, she could see the fiery wreckage in which any possible survivor would be surely be engulfed. She sat in the corner on the floor, and wept.


	17. Convalescence

**A/N: Trigger Warning for this one-some displays of domestic violence. Thanks for reading this far!**

Sundown had hit fast. The orange glow crawled through the windows of the cabin and soaked Margaret's dark corner in a gentle light. This snapped her out of her daze well enough to bring her to her feet. Everything hurt, from the bottom of her heart to the tips of her fingers. She dragged her rebelling body over to the window, and looked out at the ocean. She could see a couple of The Pearl's boats already out scavenging among the debris for valuables. Margaret wished they would hurry up and leave the destruction behind. She didn't know how much longer she could bear being in its presence.

A creaking at the door distracted her distress. She backed away behind the table, balling her fists. She was not ready to face anyone. She was not even ready to face herself.

It was Rita who stood in the doorway. Margaret hadn't had the chance to look clearly at her friend since the battle, and she could see now she was sporting a bruise above her left cheek and a scratch under her torn sleeve. She exuded exhaustion, but Margaret had never seen her look stronger. Rita walked in, shutting the door behind her. She dared not get too close to Margaret. She knew her too well.

"You're hurt," Rita said. She gestured to her own forehead. "Right there."

Margaret reached up and felt dried blood along the side of her head. It must have been from where Regis had struck her. That explained the headache.

"I'm fine," Margaret said frostily. "Worry about yourself."

"I'm not the one who damn near threw herself off the ship," was Rita's retort. "I mean, have you gone mad, Margaret?"

Margaret flared up at once.

"Is it mad to want to save my own brother?" She yelled. "He's _dead_ because you wouldn't even let me try."

Rita faltered back, realizing the mistake in her choice of words.

"Margaret," She tried again. "I'm sorry for Charlie. Truly, I am. He was a good man, and he saved a good lot of us with his warning. But you have to see that Hector did what he had to do!"

"How dare you take his side? After how many times he's lied to us, after he _locked_ me in here?" Margaret said, her voice quivering but ferocious. She couldn't even think about Hector without a flame of fury scorching her insides.

"We're alive, aren't we?" Rita felt her own anger beginning to rise. The defensive words were familiar, but she didn't let that sway her. "Which I have every confidence you _wouldn't_ be if you'd attempted your foolhardy rescue. And then where would that have left us? Without a leader, that's where. Next time you want to act like a child, think about _us_ for a change. Think about…think about _your_ child!"

Margaret fell silent. She knew Rita was right. She always was. Still, it did not entirely pacify her.

"He would have done it for me," She said quietly. "I know he would have. He did everything he could to protect me, ever since we were little. He joined his first pirate crew when I was twelve, just so he could provide for me. When the time came for me to protect _him_ , though…I couldn't."

Rita rushed forward to put a comforting hand on her friend, but Margaret drew back. Not letting her hurt show, Rita took a breath.

"I know this is hard for you," She said slowly. "Really hard. But you have _got_ to pull yourself together."

Margaret shot Rita a pained look of outrage, but said nothing.

"You can blame me, or stay angry with me, for as long as you like. But right now," Rita continued. "There are four of your crew out there who desperately need their leader. You're not the only one who lost someone today."

Iggy. She had almost forgotten her other sorrow. The man had almost gotten them all killed, but Margaret had years of him being a friend to remember. It was difficult to think about how much he'd hidden from her, how much he'd lied. She sighed shakily, and walked past Rita towards the door. Any tears that may have fallen were long dried.

She stopped just before the door.

"Do you happen know if a course has been set?" She asked, her back facing Rita.

"The Captain is taking us home to St. Kitt's. May need to stop for supplies on the way, but otherwise he's at least holding up that end of the deal."

Margaret felt the corners of her lips twitch up into a smile. It felt odd, like those muscles on her face were out of practice.

"Home," She repeated. "There's a strange word."

With that, she pushed open the door and let the outside world knock her into composure. The women found their mates all together near the bow. They were in shared silence, watching the bustle of pirates loading the ship with _The Valiant_ 's haul and trimming the sails. It was clear they were doing their best not to be in the way, though Margaret imagined having something to do would better fight their somberness. Isabelle was cleaning her sword methodically with a dirty rag. Clyde was standing still a as a statue by the edge, staring blankly at the water. Oscar and Oswald were huddled next to each other, and exchanged nervous glances when Margaret approached them. Their worry didn't go unnoticed.

"Oscar, Oswald," Margaret said stiffly. The two looked up. "It would seem…the two of you are heroes. Well done."

The twins did not reply, merely studied Margaret like she was a fine bomb that could go off at any moment. She ignored this, and turned to the others.

"All of you fought bravely today. For a fight that was hardly even yours. I think it's fair to say that there isn't a more loyal and courageous crew in all the seven seas. Something most wouldn't expect from a few simple rumrunners," Margaret searched for the right thing to say. Clyde had turned around to face her, and she could tell from one glimpse that he had been crying. "Let that be a lesson, then. We are not to be trifled with."

"We…we also must remember that we are human. And we have suffered today, in ways perhaps we couldn't have foreseen. But it's over. And now we're going home, back to a life we think we know. Make no mistake, though, it is a life with trials and tribulations. I can't promise it won't be a life filled with days like these. But it is a life we chose. I _can_ promise to lead you to days that make that life worthwhile. So…" Margaret's voice wavered. "Take today. Grieve. Collect yourselves. Reap your triumph. And tomorrow…we'll be ready for what comes next. Are you still with me?"

Everyone looked at her, soaking in her words. For a moment, Margaret feared they were finally through with her, until Isabelle rose to her feet.

"Si," She said, raising her hand in a salute. "I'm with you, my lady."

"Aye," Oscar and Oswald said in unison. "Us too."

"Aye," Clyde said quietly.

"Aye," Rita concluded with a smile. "Though I do think we should be paid more."

Everyone chuckled, even Margaret. Still, she couldn't help but feel melancholy as she looked over each of their faces. It was easy now to imagine everything returning to normal once they made it back to their island, but she could not forget about the situation she had found herself in. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she would raise the baby herself, but what it meant for her business she had no idea. It was too much…too much to think about. Her thoughts were interrupted by one of the pirates, who came up behind Margaret to tap her on the shoulder.

"Captain wants to see ye," He said gruffly.

Her light smile was clouded over once more. It was only a matter of time before she would have to look at the man who had caused her so much pain. She looked across the ship, spotting him by the door to the main cabin, peering into a chest one of his men was holding open.

"Rita, come with me," She said, gesturing her friend over.

"He wants to see ye _alone_ ," amended the pirate.

"He sees both of us or none," Margaret said, shoving past him. Rita scurried after her. The two had made it halfway across the deck before a voice called after them.

"Margaret, Rita! Wait!" Clyde rushed up to them. He looked directly at Margaret while he spoke, pain in his eyes. "About Iggy, I…I had no idea."

"I know. It's alright."

"No, it's not. I knew he was in another regiment before we met, but I didn't know…I just don't want him to be remembered just for this. He was good, I know he was. Whatever his betrayal, he always meant well. He cared for us. For you."

Margaret put a hand on Clyde's shoulder and forced a weak smile.

"I know."

This seemed to satisfy the man, who exhaled, nodded, and ran off back towards his mates. Rita looked at Margret, trying to read her deadpan expression. She could tell she was trying so hard to be tough and calm, yet she sensed she could surely break at the slightest provocation. When Hector noticed them nearing, he quickly shut the chest, almost crushing the fingers of the pirate holding it. He shooed the man away and greeted the women with a half-smile.

"One thing to be said for today is the loot we'll make off with," He said, trying to be upbeat. "That, an' our lives. Wanted to let ye know ye'll be gettin' yer fair share."

"I expect no less than half of what you found," Margaret said with unnecessary force. "In addition to the payment we agreed upon."

Rita grinned. Out of sorts though she was, Margaret still knew how to negotiate. Hector's face fell.

"A quarter would surely be proper, seein' as it be _my_ ship an' crew that what fought most audaciously," Hector raised his eyebrows.

"Seeing as it was _my_ boys who blew up the damn thing, we'll be getting half," said Margaret simply.

Hector knew better than to argue further.

"Half it is," He said humbly. "And thank yer men for lending their talents to end the battle."

"Already have. That it, then?" Margaret said, already turning back around.

"Margaret, 'bout what happened…I," Hector began, reaching out towards her. She pulled away, and walked on, ignoring him. "Margaret!" He called again, but she was already heading back to her crew at the bow. Rita sighed and ran after her, leaving Hector looking both aggrieved and angry.

She caught up to her and held onto her arm.

"He loves you," Rita whispered. She hated with every fiber of her being to admit it, but it was true. She could see it, and now that their latest adventure was coming to an end, it had to be said. "Would you at least tell him about the baby?"

"That man is incapable of feeling love," spat Margaret. That was all the answer she would give her friend, and as they rejoined their crew, Rita realized that perhaps what she needed now was time.

That night, Margaret was not seen at dinner. The smugglers and pirates ate together below decks, enjoying a particularly good meal courtesy of the cook's good mood. It was relieving to drown their hardships in drink, song, and food. The Captain always feasted alone in his own quarters, as was tradition, but Hector wasn't feeling hungry that evening. It was unusual for him to pick at his food, after having taken it for granted for ten years.

Through the tinted glass windows of the cabin, he could see a single shape out on the deck, leaning over the edge. He stood up and stuck his head out the door. It was Margaret, flicking bits of charred wood out into the water and listening to the different sized splashes. The muffled sounds of merrymaking below carried up, but otherwise the ship was dark and quiet. Sighing, Hector walked up next to her. He was grateful that she didn't instantly dash away.

"It's a bit cold tonight," He said nonchalantly. "Why aren't ye down with the crew?"

Margaret paused, deciding whether or not to ignore him while she threw another piece of wood.

"I don't feel much like eating," She said stoically. "Or celebrating."

"Any day ye live to tell the tale is a celebration, is it not?" Hector asked quietly. Margaret watched him from the corner of her eye. He was looking at her so sadly that she wanted to scream.

"Not if you lose people in the process," She turned her back to him, hoping to end the conversation, but he grabbed onto her shoulders and twisted her to face him.

"Listen, Smyth," He said, gripping her tightly. "I _am_ sorry I had ye locked up, but I was tryin' to keep ye _safe_. Ye can't go on blamin' me for—"

"Oh, believe me, I blame you for a hell of a lot more than keeping me from my brother," snapped Margaret. "Don't you forget, we wouldn't even _be_ here if you had just left that rotten potion where it belonged! I didn't _have_ to come along, I didn't _have_ to see my brother and crewman murdered, but I believed every one of your lies, and people are dead because of it!"

"My _lies_?" Hector growled. "Just because I didn't tell ye what ye didn't need to know, doesn't me I _lied_ to ye. Ye think yer so pure, do ye? So much better n' me, because I'm a filthy pirate? I lost my first mate on account of yer inability to keep a loyal crew. In fact, yer _traitorous_ sailor is the reason the plan failed in the first place! So don't be so sure I'm at fault, here. Yer not so spotless."

"I don't need you telling me what a terrible leader I am," Margaret said. She tried to back away, but he was still holding onto her. "Let go of me."

"Would ye just listen? I want to set things right between us!

"Let go!"

After a few unsuccessful attempts to shake free, she gave a somewhat deranged laugh. "You know what? You're not even half the man I thought you were. You're not even half the man _you_ think you are."

"Sorry to disappoint," Hector said venomously. "Who were ye expectin', after all this time? A knight in shinin' armor? That was never me."

"I was expecting at least _some_ of the same man I met ten years ago," Margaret hissed. "A man who would do anything for his crew. A man who wouldn't let others take the fall for his mistakes. A man with a soul!"

"My soul's been through the wringer, lass. That doesn't make me any less of a man. At least I _know_ what I've done, while ye continue to play innocent," said Hector. "It's time to grow up, Margaret. This is the life ye chose, is it not? Yer a thief, just like the rest of us. Sometimes that means lying, and killing or gettin' killed."

Margaret's anger did not subside. It could not. So many things at once drove her fury. Vengeance for her brother. Fear for her crew. Bitterness that he was absolutely right. And love. Horrible, terrible love for him, and the pain that came from loving someone who hurt her so.

"Not me," she whispered. "It doesn't mean you lie to _me_."

Hector looked at her for a moment, breathing heavily.

"Ye think yer special," He said with a sneer. "Ye think ye can be trusted? How can I trust someone who has no faith in me?"

"How can I have faith in someone who slaughters and lies to get what he wants?"

"How can ye look upon me with disgust, when ye would choose yer brother over the lives of many? When ye led a traitor into my ranks? When ye _murdered_ Captain Morgan—"

Margaret had had enough. She drew back to strike Hector across the face, but the pirate was quicker than her. Instinctively, he slapped her clean across the cheek. She stumbled backwards, clutching at her face. She saw the regret immediately wash over Hector's face, and he reached out in gentle apology.

"You villain!" Margaret yelled. "You bloody monster!"

She swiped again at his face, nails bared, but he caught her wrist mid-swing and pulled her towards him. He was just as angry as she was now.

"Give me one reason, Smyth," He shouted. "One good reason not to throw ye and the rest of yer damn crew into the brig for the rest of the journey!"

Margaret looked him in the eyes for a good long moment before she could get her bearings. She could see the remorse in his eyes, see the discomfort in his rage. But he would not back down, and neither could she. This time, she didn't bother trying to rip herself out of his grasp.

"Alright," she spoke softly and slowly. "I can think of one."

"Do enlighten me."

She was shaking, but managed to take in a breath to steady herself.

"What if…what if I told you…that I was with child?"


	18. The First Repairs

Hector staggered back, dropping Margaret's arm as though he'd been burned. He looked her up and down, not entirely sure he'd really heard the words that just escaped her lips. Margaret's jaw tensed as she watched him with cold appraisal, daring him to respond. Hector couldn't keep from shaking his head, disbelieving.

"I s'pose…that'd depend on if there be any truth to it," He muttered.

That his first instinct would be to mistrust her fueled more fury. She was suddenly aware of how much she hurt in every corner of her body, and worse in her tender cheek. She thought she would never un-feel the sting. Still, Margaret did not tremble or run. She simply gave one stiff nod to confirm, and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. The air seemed to have dropped significantly in temperature, as if it hadn't already been cool enough.

It was out in the open, now. The last secret that had been kept between them was revealed. A slew of emotions crossed Hector's face, more than she'd ever seen him display. Fear. Anguish. Shock. And finally—and most unexpectedly—joy.

"Margaret," He breathed, rushing towards her. He cradled her face in his hands, and Margaret felt too numb to fight it. "Margaret, a child! Are…are ye sure?"

Another silent nod.

"That's a damn blessin', isn't it?" Hector said slowly, though even he sounded uncertain.

This snapped Margaret out of her quiet resignation.

"For _who_ , exactly?" She cut sharply. "For the bastard? For me, who will have to drop out while I'm at the top of my game, to raise it? Or, did you mean for _you_ , who will continue sailing and plundering the high seas without a bloody care, comfortable in the knowledge that at least you managed to successfully breed?"

Though she wasn't the one who had landed a punch, Hector looked as though Margaret had just struck him. She pushed him away, and ran off towards the darkened bow and out of sight.

"Margaret!" Hector called after her. He started to chase her, but thought better of it. Instead, he took a moment to collect himself, breathing rapidly. He needed a drink, only that he could tell for sure. Just as he'd made it back to the door of the main cabin, however, he was halted by a voice.

"Alright there, Captain?" Rita was standing above the deck hatch through which she had just climbed. She was smiling, too carefree to be anything less than tipsy.

"'Alright' is a bit of a strain," sighed Hector, hand on the doorknob. "But I'll live. G'night, lass."

He turned the handle and made to retreat inside, when Rita bounced right up to him.

"Have you seen Margaret? She wasn't at dinner," Rita explained. "Came up to look for her."

"Aye, she's around…"

Again, Hector tried to open the door, but this time Rita slid it shut with her foot. Hector sighed again and faced her, beaten. She was eyeing him knowingly, making him wish he'd escaped to solitude quicker.

"Oh," Rita raised her eyebrows. "Ohh. You've talked?"

"Not civilly."

"She told you, did she?" Rita said in a stage whisper. She moved closer so the two of them were under the shelter of the bridge and out of plain sight.

"She told me a number of things," Hector said coolly. "To what might ye be referring?"

To his surprise, Rita chuckled. Perhaps she was drunker than he'd thought.

"It's alright," she patted him on the shoulder. "It just so happens I know all about your, ah, _little_ predicament."

"Do ye, now."

"Yep. What a mess, right?"

Hector rolled his eyes. He should have assumed Rita wouldn't be much help. She'd always been against him from the start, and it was unlikely she'd advocate on his behalf anytime soon. However, she was the only one who Margaret might listen to.

"Rita," Hector started. "She won't speak to me. Maybe if ye—"

"She's absolutely terrified, Hector. For now, she just needs time. She'll come around."

"Time is not on our side, with only a few weeks left at sea," said Hector. "And suppose she won't even let me see the child? Suppose she'll want nothin' to do with me?"

"Look, you two need to sort this out, it's really not my place…"

"Not your place?" A sharp voice came from up above. Hector and Rita looked at the upper deck and saw Margaret peering down at them from over the wooden rail. "Since when is it not your place to talk about me behind my back? You do it often enough."

Rita pushed a breath through pursed lips. Cleary, her friend was not entirely done being angry with her, either.

"Come down," she called calmly. "And we can talk about this all together, yeah?"

There were a few moments of silence before they heard Margaret clomp down the stairs. She glared at the two of them, as though waiting for them both to attack her. Hector opened the door and gestured the women inside.

"In here," he murmured. "Don't want to be overheard."

Margaret went straight to the corner of the room and folded her arms in front of her chest. There was still food laid out on the table, and though she tried not to look at it, she could feel her hunger burning. Hector leaned against the table and studied her, maintaining his boorish disposition. Rita shut the door tightly and faced the two of them.

"Right, then," She began, attempting to mediate. "What are you going to do?"

Margaret scoffed and looked down at her feet.

" _Do?_ Same thing any woman in my position can do. Have the bastard. Try to be a somewhat good mother. Then, withstand years of public ridicule for allowing myself to be knocked up by a pirate," she said thickly.

"Why do ye keep callin' it a bastard?" Hector asked, exasperated.

"Because that's what it is!" Margaret shot back.

Rita tried to sink back into the wall, watching in vexation as Hector stomped up to Margaret.

"So that's it, then? Yer going to let the child grow up fatherless out of spite?"

" _Spite_? You killed my brother!" Margaret cried.

"Margaret, please…You know it wasn't like that," Rita interjected.

"Oh, aren't you two suddenly the best of friends!" Margaret spat. "Maybe you should just stay aboard, Rita, seeing as you _love_ defending oafish, rotten, bloodthirsty pirates!"

"I see, now," Hector's voice rose, becoming more thunderous with each word. "Yer _ashamed_ of me, that it? Yer ashamed to be carryin' _my_ child."

That caught Margaret off guard. She could see for the first time that Hector did not look fearsome, but tortured.

"I never said that," she said, suddenly quiet.

"Ye've made it supremely clear the very idea of bearing me kin repels ye. Perhaps next time ye should think more carefully about who ye so willingly open yer legs for!"

A stunned silence swept over the room. Margaret's eyes were unreadable as she watched Hector, who knew in an instant that he'd gone too far. Even Rita, for once, did not know what to say, though she shot a dagger-like stare at Hector. Margaret had gone pale, but she was solid on her feet.

"Well, maybe I'll get lucky, then," Margaret said, sounding distant. "Maybe I'll have an _accident_."

With that, she stalked out of the cabin and back into the fresh night air, leaving Hector again looking like he'd been brutally wounded.

"She didn't mean that," Rita offered softly from where she'd been lurking.

"Aye, I think she did," Hector strained an inhale, and did something he felt he should have done every time she'd ever walked away from him, upset or not. He followed her.

She didn't get very far. Margaret had almost reached the staircase back to up the bridge when he caught up. She heard his rapid footsteps, and turned around with her mouth open, but before she could yell at him, he pinned her against the wall of the cabin. He was delicate, but not about to let her get away this time.

"You listen to me, Margaret," Hector whispered. "And listen well. _First_ , blamin' me for everything that's happened isn't going to make anything _un_ -happen, so ye can dispense yer anger elsewhere because I won't have it. Second, I _am_ sorry for everything. _Everything_ , Margaret. I'm sorry. But it's in the past now, so let it stay there. And _third_ ," He exhaled sharply. "I have every bloody intention of marryin' ye, so don't ye dare be callin' our child a bastard."

Margaret's expression remained hardened, but she shook slightly at his words. She couldn't help it.

"You want to marry me," she restated softly.

"'Course I do, don't be so surprised. Ye may think me a monster, but I do at least _try_ to be a man of honor," Hector replied. "And…and I love ye, ye silly girl."

He said it as though it should have been painstakingly obvious, as though it were something he said to her every day. He wished it truly had been. Yet, it had never been like him to love much of anything.

"Love me?" Margaret never thought she would hear the words out loud. She couldn't think of what else to say, her mind drawing blank and the quick beating of her heart distracting her. It beat both from her wilting rage and sudden, pure elation. Hector almost laughed.

"Yes, strange, isn't it? But if ye'll have me, I'm yours. Always have been, come to think of it."

Afraid of how she would react, perhaps with more fury or disgust, Hector took two steps back. When she did not respond at first, he sighed, and began to walk back towards his cabin. Rita may have been right after all. Maybe time was what she needed.

"Hector." Margaret's voice sounded stronger and surer than it had all evening. More like herself. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her with timorous eyes.

"I'm…I'm sorry," She said. "For the way I've been acting. I…" Her voice broke. Tears formed irritatingly at the corners of her eyes, and she was too tired to fight them off. "I know you didn't kill Charlie. And I'm not ashamed of you. Never. How could I be? I…I love you, too, you know."

Hector returned to the woman who loved him, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he could. Margaret breathed into his chest, trying not to let her sliding teardrops land on his shirt. The things that they had not been able to put into words were uncovered with each second they held each other. They were still broken, and they knew it, but not beyond repair. Now, they could begin to mend.

"My dear star," Hector whispered warmly. "Who would've thought a shining lass like ye would even look my way?" He sighed, smiling sadly down at her. "I should never have been angry, or treated ye so. It shan't happen again, I swear it. As long as I live." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Margaret, I don't expect ye to forgive me, but I'd be lyin' if I said I'm not prayin' ye can look past the fact that I'm not at all worthy of ye."

"Worthy? It isn't a matter of _worthy_ ," Margaret said, half smirking. "I've already fallen for you. That was decided years ago, really, and it's not about to change. Besides, you're stuck with me now, seeing as you're a man of honor and all that."

The corners of Hector's lips twitched, but he still was wary as he held onto her.

"This mean yer not wishin' for an accident?" He asked, trying to hide his hope with gruffness.

Margaret pulled back to look at his scarred face that suddenly looked so much younger.

"Of course not," She gasped lightly. "By God, I already love this child more than I can stand." She smiled as she remembered the image of their future daughter. She realized, suddenly, how the thought of being alienated from his child would hurt the man. "Hector, when I said that…I was _frightened_. I'm always reminded, when we're together, that…it can't last. Soon…soon you'll be gone again."

The girl in her vision had not given Margaret any indication that they would all be together. In the back of her mind, she'd been wondering if there would ever be a time when the three of them could be a happy family. It was partly why she'd been so furious with Hector. The fear that he would abandon them was agonizing.

Hector stroked her hair with his blackened fingernails, his brow creased as he looked back at her fondly.

"Give me a chance," He said. "From now on, when I'm not at sea, my home is where ye are. It won't be easy. I know a sailor's wife never has it easy…but I'll provide for ye and the child as best I can. Ye'll give me reason, Margaret. I'll never be gone for too long."

She knew he was speaking truthfully, but Margaret couldn't help but wonder if it was a promise he could keep. He was married to the Pearl and the waters before he would ever be to her. After losing Charlie so abruptly, she would never shake the thought that anyone else could be taken from her just as easily. It was something she would just have to accept. She could do that, now that she was sure she had his love. In answer to his pledge, she leaned up to kiss him. She could taste the salt from her own tears, but they warmed her. Hector lifted her up off the ground, and for a brief moment she felt happy. When she returned to Earth, however, it seemed like all the things weighing on her chest returned as well.

"Let me stay with you," Margaret said after he released her She felt like a little girl, swept up in the moment and forgetting all her responsibilities. "Let me stay aboard the Pearl.

"Ye know I can't let ye do that," Hector said quietly, though it was clear in his hesitation that he could imagine it as well as she. "A pirate ship is no place for a babe, and it wouldn't be safe for ye in the time before. Ye'll stay where ye'll be taken care of."

"I can take care of myself," She pressed, though she knew the battle was lost before it began.

"I know that. Ye were meant for a life of daring, no doubt about it," He said. "Yet today…I had to watch as ye almost jumped onto an exploding ship," Hector broached the subject with caution. He was reluctant to remind her of what he'd done to prevent her daring rescue.

It pained Margaret to think of it again, but Hector's troubled voice made her understand something she hadn't before.

"I didn't mean to scare you like that," She whispered.

"Ye know, few things can truly scare me these days," Hector replied. "But the thought of losin' ye…" He trailed off, unable to entertain the idea.

Margaret placed a hand gently on his rough cheek.

"If it had been you on that boat, I wouldn't have done any different," she said.

"Yer too doting for yer own good," Hector said affectionately. "Thought I admit, I would do the same for ye."

"Ah, honorable _and_ chivalrous," Margaret teased.

Hector grinned, but it soon faded as he caught sight of the lingering sadness still ripe in Margaret's eyes. He cleared his throat.

"I know it be not my place to say," He said. "But they were lucky to have ye. Yer shipman. Yer brother. They were lucky to have someone who cares too much."

Whether it was the wrong thing to say or the right, it hit Margaret like a sack of bricks. Suddenly the impact of all her failures fell upon her in a massive heap. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice got lost. Instead, she turned her head to the floor. Tears ran slowly at first, then all at once.

Hector pulled her in closer and she broke apart in his arms. Her sobs were muffled by his coat and the soft comforts he was whispering to her. There was no anger anymore, no more blame for anyone. Except for herself. It was the worst kind of blame, the one she could do nothing about. For that, all she could do was regret, and it would be a sad, lonely recovery.

"It's my fault," she choked. "My fault. All of it."

"Don't speak like that, dove," Hector said softly. "Ye did nothing wrong. Ye did all ye could have."

Nothing could convince her of that, but she decided not to argue. She wasn't a fool; though she knew in her heart she would take responsibility for what happened, Margaret also knew that she had a responsibility to _live_. Now, more than ever. Never again would she let someone she loved slip through her fingers. Never again would she waver as a leader. Perhaps, in truth, there was still blame to be shared, but all she could do now was learn from her own, let it go, and live. As Hector held her, she was soothed only by the steady caress of his hand through her hair, and by the promise of new beginnings.

* * *

 **A/N: Whoa, time flies! The story's not nearly over yet, but I wanted to thank to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! I didn't expect to get this far this quickly, but it's been a fun, complicated ride. Just a warning, I will be keeping to what is canon in the movies (which means a lot of heartbreak in store unfortunately). These next final few chapters will be hard, but I'll try to update as frequently as possible. As always, let me know what you think!**


	19. Home

The mood aboard the Black Pearl quickly turned from foul to good in the days that followed. After estimating the worth of what was scavenged from _The Valiant_ , the pirates were very high spirited indeed. It led to a calm throughout the ship that promised an easy, yet long, voyage back to the Caribbean. At least for a time, there would be no more running. No more fighting. Only sailing and relishing in their newfound prosperity and peace.

Margaret found herself wishing the trip home would last forever. She watched Isabelle and Oscar practice swordplay on the main deck with Pintel and Ragetti from her perch on the bridge. They were laughing, teasing the pirates, while the others drank happily around them. The crew had certainly become a bit lazier—Hector had had to shout more than once to get his men to swab the decks—but she did not blame them. They had earned a break.

When she stepped down to join the gaiety, she was greeted with welcoming clamor. Barbossa's crew may not have liked her to begin with, but they seemed to have changed their tune in the wake of Regis' fall. Margaret smiled warmly as she approached. Oswald held up a goblet of rum in her direction.

"Oy, come have a drink! Where's Margaret, the queen of merriment, gone off to, eh?" He said with a grin. The others echoed their agreement. Rita shot her an apologetic smile. Margaret hadn't told anyone else about her pregnancy, and her plan was to keep it a secret as long as it could remain so.

"She's just hibernating for now," Margaret said wryly. "None for me, thanks." She nodded at the outstretched drink.

"I'll take it," Rita said, instantly snatching the cup from his hands.

"I can't remember the last time I've seen you really enjoy yourself, gal," Oswald shook his head, disapprovingly.

"Don't be so dramatic," Margaret laughed. "I'll be drunk again, just…not tonight."

Oswald's disappointment only lasted a second before he laughed at something behind Margaret.

"Atta girl, Belle!" He shouted. Margaret turned to see Isabelle, who had clearly just disarmed Pintel and was pointing her blade at his neck with a satisfied smile. She took a bow to the chorus of cheers behind her. She was something of a goddess to the pirates; not one could take their eyes off of her. Margaret knew she could handle herself, though. She caught Isabelle's eye and winked with pride. One man began playing a broken accordion, just well enough to bring the others to dance. Grinning at the excitement, she quickly used the opportunity to slip away from the crowd.

As expected, she found Hector alone in the main cabin. He sat at the table, which was cluttered with papers and books, some that bore severe water damages. His head was bent low above an open scroll that was so smudged he had to use a magnifying glass to decipher it. The captain was so enthralled by his readings that he practically jumped, startled, when Margaret shut the door behind her. The moment he realized who it was, his frown slid into an affectionate smile.

"Sorry," Margaret said, coming over to rest a hand on the back of his chair. "Doing a bit of light reading, are we?"

"Going over some of Regis' shipment logs," Hector ran a finger down the parchment. "Say what you will about the man, but he was _fine_ at business. Marked out just about every trade route on this side of the world, with launch dates to match. He was almost up to his ears in wealth."

"Sounds like you struck gold," Margaret said shortly. It still singed to think about Regis, and Hector's tone of admiration was not helpful. He seemed to sense this, and placed his hand firmly on hers.

"It's all for us, now," He said, procuring a well-kept document from the pile. A scrawled line near the bottom had been circled in red ink. "Look here. Next month, a ship from the west of Italy is due to carry a quarter of the King's gold to a vault in England. It's a smaller load, so shouldn't be too heavily armed. An easy catch."

"If anyone can do it, you can," Margaret replied supportively. She was distracted by the next line of the document. Reaching over Hector, she pointed it out. "It says that ship will also reportedly be delivering the effects of the deceased Galileo Galilee to be preserved…That's the astronomer, isn't it?"

Hector gave her a knowing grin.

"Aye, the very same. There's a lot more in this for me than just gold, see," He suddenly pulled out a familiar ruby fragment from his coat pocket. Margaret was amazed to see it again, having almost forgotten its existence. "Do ye know why I plucked it from Morgan's pile all those years ago?"

"No," Margaret admitted. "Was it because it's particularly shiny?"

"I thought _this_ was what she was after, before we found the spyglass. I had read about it, in an old chapter written by Galileo himself. A similar gem had once been in his possession. He'd used it to examine the phenomenon of the Red Moon, and how its light could chart new courses. I recognized the stone at once. Still, I was unsuccessful in discovering its true meanin'. And by that time, I preferred ye to have it."

"So you think something in the old astronomer's belongings will explain its significance?" Margaret was intrigued.

"There's a hope," Hector sighed. "But if not, I'll still have plenty of gold and a couple o' fancy star charts."

"You're always one plan ahead, aren't you?" Margaret smiled. "We're but a few days out from your last triumph, and already your nose is in the books. You ought to enjoy yourself, just a bit."

"Says the girl who'd rather spend her time in here with me than out there with the crew of mirth," teased Hector. "I'd offer ye wine, but I hear that's ill-advised for expecting mothers." He took a swig from his own goblet, chuckling at Margaret's rueful glare. "Why aren't ye out there dancing? As I recall, yer flighty on yer feet."

Margaret stifled a snicker as she remembered the night to which he was referring. The night in the tavern, before Captain Morgan came after them. The night she had felt more carefree and thrilled by life than she ever would again. The night she first realized she might love him.

The accordion music was soft from outside, but somehow it still managed to fill the room.

"I've never seen you dance," Margaret noted. "I suppose there's a lot I haven't seen you do." It hurt a bit, to think of the time they had lost. She realized how little she really knew about the man she was devoted to. The countless times they'd escaped death together had been enough to strengthen their bond, but now as threat waned again and finally their future had clarity, Margaret wondered what it would be like to know him normally. To eat dinner with him at a real table in a real house. To wake up next to him in a bed they could call theirs. To dance, as she knew couples sometimes did.

Hector was thinking along the same lines. With a gentle grunt, he stood up from his chair and extended his hand. Happily surprised, Margaret bowed to him with a laugh and slipped her hand in his. The music was delicate, and so were their movements. Both were a bit clumsy, but they didn't have to be graceful to sway with one another about the room.

"You've danced before," Margaret deduced. He certainly knew the steps.

"Aye, as a younger man I attended a fair number of galas. As one does in England," He sounded almost embarrassed, but tried to play it off as nonchalant.

"Ever miss it?"

"England? I suppose on rare occasion. Hard not to miss _home_ , but when yer home is the sea…well, ye get used to the meanin' of that word ever-changing."

"I know what that's like," Margaret said softly. Home had taken many different forms all her life. Yet, with Hector's promise of making "home" with her, she felt more comfort in the word than ever before.

Hector was looking at her more intently than he had all evening, as though just noticing she was really there. He reached up and rubbed her upper cheek with his rough thumb.

"I never noticed before," He said. "Ye've got a number of dots sprinkled under yer eyes."

Margaret failed at holding back a laugh.

"My freckles," She shook her head with a coy smile. "They show up when I've been in the sun too long."

"They're beautiful," Hector kissed each side of her face and down to her lips. "You're beautiful."

The music outside subsided, and though the two stopped their hesitant dance, they did not let go of each other. Hector lifted Margaret up onto the table, not bothering to move aside any of the charts and papers. He pressed his lips to her neck, and she leaned back. Her hands brushed something hard and ribbed laid out on the table. Curious, she glanced over. It was a bamboo map—or, at least what was left of it. The roll had clearly been ripped from a larger document, and from its center an even smaller piece had been removed.

"Well, here's an unusual chart. Not very helpful, though," She said as she pulled it out from under her to examine it closely.

"Ye'd be surprised what it showed when it was whole," Hector ran his finger along the jagged edges in the center. "I've got our old friend Jack to thank for the gaping hole."

"Even after surviving the end of the world together, you two can't get along," Margaret chided playfully. "What exactly was so important about this map?"

"It was one of the very few guides to the fountain of youth," said Hector. At first, Margaret thought he was joking, but the longing with which he stared at the broken map said otherwise. Noticing the incredulity in her eyes, he went on. "Aye, I know it be a far-fetched legend. Yet after being on the recievin' end of curses and magic _I_ had thought to be only lore, I could never again be a skeptic. I so wanted to see it with me own eyes…eternal life. That'd be something. But the swine took the piece that mattered for himself."

"You _did_ take his ship."

Hector laughed.

"An eye for an eye, I see yer point. Still, a hunt for the fountain would've been a tale to tell ye," He sighed, moving his hand from the map to her arm. "But there will be other journeys."

Margaret watched him for a moment, her lips forced tightly together as they did when she was deep in thought. She put the map down at her side, and cupped Hector's bearded face with both hands as though studying him like a fine artifact.

"You'll never be satisfied, will you?" It wasn't a criticism, just an understanding. She spoke in a hush, like a child making a discovery. "You'll always need to be searching for something. Always looking to the next big victory. Always moving."

"Ye speak as though I'm a shark," Hector said. He knew she was right, but when she looked into her eyes he found not sadness, but loyalty.

"No. Just a man who's been to hell one too many times."

He kissed her again, biding his time until he had to respond. While his forehead rested on hers, his breath warmed her skin.

"If ever I thought I could be satisfied," He whispered. "It would be with you."

Margaret smiled against his cheek, confident that he spoke only the truth. It had taken them some time to reach new ground in their relationship. She had been treading carefully around him the first two days after the battle, still healing from the pain he had played a part in causing. She had been crushed between two truths: that she could never completely trust the man, nor could she be without him. Her heart prevailed, much to Rita's chagrin. Rita had finally found herself alone with Margaret the morning after she'd begun sleeping in the captain's quarters again. Rita had tried voicing her concerns one last time while the two were sorting through their bounty from _The Valiant_.

"You don't really need him, you know," She'd said. Though she had come to respect the way Hector captained his ship, and had even been friendlier towards him, she would never think anyone was good enough for Margaret. Indeed, once she'd sobered up after that night, she'd gone back to hinting her disapproval. "We make a living, don't we? The kid will be in good hands, with or without him."

"I know I don't need him," was Margaret's simple reply. "I want him."

Now, in his arms, she was surer than ever. She trusted that Hector loved her, and that was enough for now.

"And what about you, then?" Hector asked suddenly, bringing her back to the present. "What in this world could satisfy Margaret Smyth, sharp shooter, championed smuggler, and foolhardy lass?"

"There's a lengthy title," She said, smirking. It took her a while to ponder the question, her smile fading just slightly. "I suppose… life isn't really worth living if you're always satisfied. There'd be no pleasure because there'd be no hardships to compare to. Once you have what you're searching for, you're done. So perhaps I'd be satisfied _never_ being satisfied."

"Yer knee deep in philosophy beyond my realm, dove," Hector chuckled.

"Alright, alright," She sighed. "I'd be happiest with you and our child, of course. Sailing the seas. Never stopping. Always searching for the next adventure. But together. Always together."

"Aye," He grinned. "In time, Smyth, we'll have it all. I promise."

Even with a promise made by an untrustworthy man, Margaret was satisfied.

Two and a half uneventful weeks later, she awoke beside him, as had become habit. It was early, and the ship's creaking was as symbolic of morning as a rooster's crow. They suspected to arrive in St. Kitt's that afternoon. While everyone was pleased to be meeting land again, Margaret felt only melancholic that the journey was ending. Yet there were things to look forward to. She and Hector had decided to marry before he set off again; it would be a small, private wedding that would somewhat ensure her virtue (not that it mattered to her), and bond them officially. It was a strange idea for a woman who had never wanted to be tied to anything.

She sat up and looked over Hector's sleeping form, brushing her hand lightly across his hair. She stood up off of the tiny bunk, her back aching slightly. Another luxury of land would be a real bed. Slowly, she began to dress, slipping on her gown and pulling on her bodice. She began to tie it, but with slight difficulty.

"Need help?" Hector's voice was drowsy, but his smile was wide awake. He slid out of the sheets and walked to Margaret in the corner, tugging gently at her laces.

"It's getting tighter," She complained.

"Don't fret, yer not quite showing," said Hector as he finished loosely tying the garment. "There. Still fits. Comfortable?"

"Thanks," Margaret sighed. She began putting on the rest of her clothes while Hector did the same.

"What do ye think it'll be? Boy or girl?" He asked, slipping on his jacket.

Margaret smiled to herself. She had not told Hector of the vision the witch gave her of their daughter. It was something she wanted for herself.

"What are you hoping for?" She tried not to feel nervous for his answer.

"Never thought I'd be a father, to be honest," Hector chuckled. "S'pose it don't really matter much."

Remembering the witch had struck Margaret with a sudden thought. She stared out of the porthole at the light, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it again. Hector noticed her hesitation.

"Something on yer mind?"

"I just…I've been wanting to ask you," She said quietly. "When that witch, Shansa, said that you would pay your debt to her in time…what did she mean?"

She had been putting the question aside ever since they were reunited after Singapore. In truth, she feared the worst and that the answer would not be something she wanted to hear. But she couldn't put it off any longer. She had to know.

"She… said I would save her life one day," Hector replied softly. "Don't know how or when, but she could see it. Usually the price to cross her door is _blood_ , but she knew who I was the second we entered. I just pray I live up to it, so as not to incur her wrath."

Margaret was silent for a moment, trying not to show her utter relief.

"It must be a burden, knowing the future," She joked.

"Aye, not for the faint of heart," Hector smiled and kissed her forehead.

Everyone was on deck when the first sight of land was spotted. Isabelle and Oscar practically leapt for joy as they pointed out the familiar rocks and cliffs that lined the passage to St. Kitt's. Margaret came up beside Clyde, who was leaning over the side looking forlorn. It wasn't unusual to find him morose these days, but he always tried to seem lively when Margaret was around. Even now, he switched to a smile in a flash when he noticed her.

"A sight for sore eyes," He said, nodding to the island in the distance.

"Mm. Hasn't changed a bit. I'll be glad to be back in a place where the rats keep to themselves," Margaret said with a grin.

Clyde briefly smirked, then fell back into his vigil. Margaret put her hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to stay, you know," She told him. "If you need time."

"I've lost soldiers before. It's nothing new. Just part of the businesses I chose," He replied shortly. "Besides, you've bounced back. You're not quitting. Why should I?"

It was true that Margaret had done a good job of hiding her grief for the remainder of the trip home. She had to, both for her own sanity and to be a competent leader. Clyde had not taken the loss of his friend quite as well, and it showed in his consistent desire for solitude.

"It's all I know, this life," She said. "If I didn't have my job to go back to, I'd have nothing. You, on the other hand, have options."

"We all have options. Which we take depends on our strength…and our luck. I first came here to start a better life, one with fortune and good company. I've seen both with you, but I don't think I'll ever know if they outweigh the heartache and fear."

He turned to face her fully, fidgeting with a button on his jacket to avoid her eyes.

"Suppose I did take some time. I was thinking of maybe taking my cut of the treasure and finding Iggy's family. Helping them out," He murmured.

"A noble gesture," Margaret complimented. "But then, you always were. Except when you're a bloody cheat at cards."

He chuckled genuinely for the first time in ages.

"You'd be down two men instead of one."

"I can manage. It's time Edmund took a bigger role in transporting anyway."

Clyde took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Rita, Isabella, and the twins hustled over at that moment, pointing over the edge at the shape of the island that had grown much larger in just a few minutes.

"The pirates are staying a week inland, yeah?" Oscar asked. "I want a rematch with that Pintel character."

"Please, he disarmed you two spars in a row. You need lessons from Belle, mate," Oswald clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"Maybe if he asks nicely," Isabelle said. She thrust torso over the edge, pointing excitedly. "There she is! Home!"

Margaret caught Rita's eye and smiled. They'd made it after all.

As the rowboats drew nearer, Rita could make out the roof of their house at the edge of town. The docks were crowded, but everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion compared to one young man who was running to make his way through the pack.

"Edmund came to greet us, what a charming boy," Rita giggled.

"I'm sure he missed us terribly," Margaret said.

Yet as they reached the docks, it was not joy that they made out on their companion's face. He was staring anxiously at the longboat containing the smuggling crew, which was the first to be tied and emptied. The moment Margaret set both feet on the wood, he ran up to her.

"Alright there, Ed?" She asked, a bit startled. "It's good to see you, too!"

"Esperanza has been arrested," He blurted out. "The guild has fallen. They're taking everyone."


	20. Compromised

They took their time processing the news with which Edmund had greeted them. Fortunately, the pirates didn't pick up that anything was out of the ordinary, and were busy unloading the sacks of shillings they'd brought to squander on the taverns and shops. Only Hector took notice of the solemnity that had befallen the smugglers, but his integrity told him not to eavesdrop.

Margaret was the first to snap back. She wrenched Edmund closer, leaning in so she could speak in a whisper.

"When?" She asked, glancing around the docks for any sign of an unfriendly face. It was just the pirates, a few incoming fishermen, and the harbormaster.

"About a week ago. Two men from the Dutch East Trading Company came here looking for you, found your name on Esperanza's records. Rita and Isabelle, too. I told them there was no one here by that name, and they said if I heard anything to let them know. Now they've got officers swarming the island, lying in wait for someone to set a toe out of line so they can pounce," Edmund spoke in one breath.

"Slow down," Margaret murmured. "You're saying they're cracking down on smugglers now?"

"That's right, that's what they're saying, anyway. St. Kitts has been in hell since, half the population here gets fed on the success of smuggling organizations. Husbands, shop-owners, all thrown in jail every night. And they're being real discrete about it, too. I only know about it since they came right to my doorstep."

Rita, Isabelle, Clyde, and the twins had gathered in to listen.

"Hang on, we've got illegal cargo we're bringing in," Rita said. "Are they going to search us at the docks?"

"No, they haven't quite yet barred down on what's coming _on_ to the island, so much as what's being dealt _within_. They're all cautious, not wanting to start an uprising," Ed shrugged. "But I saw Iago from the market looking like he'd been beaten something awful last night…"

"So they lose their war on pirates, and think it's a good idea to come for us next," Margaret tried not to roll her eyes.

"It's actually quite clever," Clyde pointed out. "Coming to cut off the head of the lesser serpent. They're desperate for some kind of victory. Some demonstration of control. With Beckett gone, it was only a matter of time until they struck down harder."

"It's not just here, either," Ed pressed on. "It's happening all about the Caribbean, they've got fleets stationed all along Smuggler's run and the other occupied trading routes."

"But it's not like they'll start executing smugglers, will they?" Oscar asked nervously. "I mean, it's not like we're guilty of murder or thievery-we're just third party sellers."

"That's the other thing," Ed said grimly. "They're looking for ways to accuse us of treason. You remember Jones, the old dealer on the south side of the island? They brought him in on charges of conspiring with pirates. It's punishable by death, now. Guess it always was, but they're enforcing it more than ever. That's why Esperanza was always so careful…but that didn't even save her. They charged everyone in Smuggler's Cove with thievery on top of the illegal transporting. Way I see it, there's not a known bootlegger that's secure right now."

All of them fell silent, sure the other was thinking the same thing. None of them wanted to be arrested, but they also didn't want to be out of a job. All heads turned to Margaret.

"Well?" Isabelle asked. "What do we do?"

Margaret sighed, looking over at the crew of pirates she'd just led into authority-infested land.

"The only thing we can do," She said quietly. "Lay low until we find a way to continue work around the law. Wouldn't be the first time." Yet even as she said it, she could feel something was different about this time. Never before had smugglers been specifically targeted. Never before had _she_ been specifically targeted.

Later, after the unceremonious welcome, everyone had either meandered off to the tavern or to their own homes. Until they could no longer, they would proceed as though everything were normal. Margaret stood in her bedroom in front of the mirror, holding a fine necklace she'd coveted from the haul to her chest. Hector sat on her bed, sliding his boots on.

"You realize this means we'll have to postpone the wedding," Margaret said, watching Hector from the mirror. She had explained the situation to him once they were safely inside the house. "If my name's on any sort of official paper, it could end with my head in a noose."

"Aye. I suspect those gems look far prettier 'round yer neck than rope would," Hector cackled slightly. He came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist, and looked adoringly at their framed reflection. "I don't mind. We're hardly traditional as it stands, and there's not much we can do about savin' yer purity at this point anyway."

"You're awful," Margaret laughed.

In spite of the looming dangers, Margaret felt more at ease than she had in a long time. She could hear Rita and Edmund bickering downstairs while they attempted to cook dinner. She was warm in Hector's embrace. She was home.

"I know ye aren't going to like this," Hector said, running a finer along the curve of her neck. "But I suspect it'll be far better for ye if we cast off sooner rather than later. Ye don't want to be seen convening with the likes of us, not if yer already in hot water."

"I suppose not," she admitted with a grumble. "Remember when these waters were safe for people like us?"

"No," Hector chuckled, kissing her hair.

"Neither do I."

She tossed the jewelry gently onto the bureau and turned to face the man, running her hands up and down the fabric of his sleeves. He looked down at her as he mulled over a thought that had just struck him.

"Ye ever think about relocating?" He asked, trying to sound as though her were making casual conversation instead of a suggestion.

"Where would I go? The best goods come through here, don't they?"

"World's a big place, ye never know for sure. Besides, it don't matter where yer home is if ye have access to the sea."

"Alright. What did you have in mind?"

Hector hesitated for a moment.

"Ye could always return to England," He murmured.

" _England?_ I left there to start a new life, why would I ever go back?" She pulled away from him, puzzled by the thought.

"It'd be a hell of a lot safer, for one thing. While all the Trading Company's focus is on this side of the world, ye'd go unnoticed in the homeland. Ye could find a nice island town-a place with a bit of green, not a pile of rubbish like London-run yer business from there. There'd be finer midwives, our child could even attend a _school-_ "

"And where do _you_ fit in to this fantasy plan of yours?" Margaret raised her eyebrows, sure he had some ulterior motive.

"Well it would certainly be _easier_ to get to ye if ye weren't residin' where the law was workin' against ye."

"The law's always working against me."

"But here they know yer name, Smyth."

Margaret mashed her lips together in frustration. Hector's eyes showed genuine concern, but it would take a lot more than his fear to uproot her.

"There be dangers everywhere, I'll not deny that," Hector went on. "But the Caribbean is not entirely civilized, nor has it reached an age of prosperity. All I ask is that ye think about it."

"It's not up to you, a man who keeps to the seas, to determine where his land-bound wife should settle," She retorted.

"Is it not? At least consider what it could mean for the child."

"…Fine," She lied to appease him. The thought of England nauseated her, but then again her memories of the place were selective. She'd only seen the dirty town from which she'd escaped with her brother, but for all she knew the rest of the country was just like it. However, in that moment she could picture herself in a pretty housewife's dress, her biggest worries consisting of pulling laundry off the line before the storm and if her husband would return home in time for dinner. It was a thought that half disgusted her, half adrenalized her.

"Perhaps we should settle down altogether," She suggested with a smirk, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You'd could work as a privateer. I could raise a family."

"If ye'd asked me a year ago, I'd say I'd sooner sink than sail for the British Government," chuckled Hector. "But somehow being proper doesn't sound all that terrible anymore."

"No, it doesn't," Margaret agreed, surprised. "I wonder, have we weakened each other?"

"Ah, Smyth," Hector brushed her lips with his thumb. "Ye only give me strength. And yet, at the same time…I reckon ye'll be the death of me."

"Or you me."

Margaret kissed the man, and when she did she felt anything but weak.

That night, the crew of the Pearl and Margaret's smugglers were all back in the familiar tavern where they'd first met but a few months ago. The atmosphere was surprisingly jolly, and even the locals of St. Kitts had an air of cheeriness to them. They'd always been good at being superficial, acting as though everything were fine and normal. Margaret and Rita sat with their mates at a table as far away from the hubbub as possible.

"We still have a shipment of that mead to offload," Isabelle whispered, swishing the contents of her goblet around anxiously. "We either need to sell it to Loring _tonight_ , or stash it in the cellar."

John Loring was the owner of the tavern and inn, and also happened to be Margaret's largest source of revenue. When rum-running or partaking in other drug trades, the crew also had a secret cellar in an unoccupied part of St. Kitts in which they stored cargo between deals.

"I'll talk to him, see if he can't cut us a break," Margaret sighed. "Better to get the money while we still have a chance."

Just then, she spotted Clyde by the door. He had his cloak already drawn round his shoulders, and he looked around the tavern once before sweeping out into the night. Margaret tugged at Rita's sleeve, who also noticed the door closing.

"'Scuse us for a moment, would you?" Margaret said, hurrying off to the door with Rita on her tail.

They caught him only a few feet down the cobblestone road, and he looked almost embarrassed when he turned and saw the two women standing with their arms folded.

"Thought you could sneak off without so much as a goodbye?" Rita scolded with a smile.

"I didn't want a fuss," Clyde said quietly. "I thought it would be better this way."

"Too bad you underestimated my sentimentality," Margaret said, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. "Safe travels, mate."

Clyde laughed lightly while Rita gave him a hug.

"Guess our run's about come to an end anyway," He said sadly. "I do wish you all the best. Perhaps in a better world we could've worked honestly together."

"Please, honest work's for fools," Rita joked.

"I suppose you're right. Still, if you find yourself in Port Royal, perhaps our paths will cross again," Clyde replied with a wink. "Don't do anything too stupid, not like I would." He put his hand on Rita's shoulder. "Take care of Mags, will you?"

Rita nodded and grinned. Margaret tried to smile, but couldn't bring herself to.

"I always do," said Rita.

With that assurance, Clyde bowed his head respectfully and turned away. The women watched as his figure sank deeper into the darkness, finding it hard to comprehend that it may be the last they saw of him. Then again, the world was a smaller place than they'd once thought.

"Is he really rejoining the navy?" Rita tried not to sound revolted.

"It's what he knows best. He'll be alright, I've got no doubt," said Margaret. She fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve. "You know, Hector thought it could be good to relocate back to England. At least until things calm down here."

"Oh, and of course we must always do what _Hector_ says," Rita sniveled. "It's not like we've never encountered trouble here before. We'll pull through fine."

"Perhaps."

The two returned to the tavern in silence. Margaret parted from Rita and waded through the crowd to where Loring stood behind the counter. She leaned both her elbows on the wood and tried to look demure. She could always best get the man's attention when she waited patiently at the end of the counter instead of shouting like the other drunkards. When he finally looked over, he seemed surprised to see her, but happy nonetheless.

"Now there's a face I've missed!" He sloshed, wiping a cup with a dirty rag. "Long time, no see, Mary!"

"Been off on adventure," Margaret winked. "Even came back with a little something for you. I'm a girl who provides, after all."

Loring's face fell a bit.

"That so? Listen, I, uh, don't know what you heard but they been keepin' an eye on what's being sold on the island."

"Come on, it's just couple of crates of mead, no one's going to fault you for that!" Margaret put on her best selling attitude. "They won't notice if you have just one more type of drink in your collection, eh? It's good stuff, too."

Loring hesitated, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. Fortunately the room was loud and full of blurry minded people.

"Alright…" He said slowly. "I think we can make a deal. But this is the last time, okay? For a while, anyhow. Bring it round back and knock thrice."

"You're a gentleman, Loring," Margaret shook the man's greasy hand and strode off back towards the others carrying a few pints with her.

Rita, the twins, and Isabelle looked at her expectantly as she approached, laying the drinks on the table.

"Well, he says he's in," Margaret said. "But he didn't seem too keen about it. He's nervous, and fear might turn him against us."

"What, you think it's a trap?" Oswald asked.

"Could be."

Rita took a large gulp and wiped her mouth on her arm.

"Even so, it's worth a shot, isn't it? Listen, I'll go alone so I don't seem so threatening. No-don't look at me like that, Margaret, better me than you! It'll be quick and easy, and Loring likes me just fine."

"It's _risky_ , Rita," Margaret said. "They already know you're on the island and that you were a registered member of the smuggler's guild."

"Look, it's all risky. But we've got one last shot at making some good out of Regis' cargo, and I say we go for it."

"She's got a point," Isabelle said. "Loring's a good man, he'll come through. We should take him at his word."

"We _have_ been wrong about taking people by their word before," muttered Oscar, but he left it at that.

"I'll bring the crates to Loring and fetch us a nice price," Rita said, pushing her chair back and hopping to her feet. "Cheers to our last sale, then!" She tipped her drink and finished it off before slamming it back down on the table.

The crew all returned the gesture. Rita smiled and rushed out, leaving just the four of them. The pirates were all melded into the crowd. Hector hadn't been seen in some time, and Margaret wondered dully if he was pouring over his treasure in his room.

An hour came and went, and no sign of Rita. It didn't normally take so long for a transaction, and as soon as the church bells signaled midnight, Margaret knew something was wrong.

"Wait here. I'll go check around back," She told the others, standing up.

Just as she was about to leave, Hector stumbled in with a few of his crewmen.

"There she is, gents!" He called when he saw her. "Looks like a siren, that one, and just as deadly. Going to make an honest man out of me, yet!"

The men laughed like a chorus of parrots. Margaret gave him a thin lipped smile, quickly assessing the high level to which he'd already drunk.

"It's going to take a lot more than just me to make you honest," she teased as she moved around him to get to the door.

"Where're you off to in such a hurry?" Hector pulled her aside before she could exit.

"Just…to finish off a deal. Won't take but a moment."

Hector's lighthearted expression quickly turned to one of urgency. He took hold of Margaret's shoulder and leaned in to be heard clearly in the din.

"Don't be a fool, Smyth! Are ye trying to get caught?"

"I'm _trying_ to turn a profit while I still can," Margaret said coolly. "I know it's not ideal circumstances. Rita went to meet with our buyer and she hasn't returned, I've got to go look for her."

"I'll come with ye."

"I can handle myself just fine, thanks."

"It'll give me more peace o' mind than you."

Margaret surrendered, and allowed him to follow her out into the dark. They went to the backdoor of the tavern, where the smell of sweet wine mixed with vomit and trash was overwhelming. There was no one there, except for a mangy looking cat lapping at a puddle. Immediately, Margaret sensed something had happened. The puddle had been splashed about, as if there had been a struggle. She pulled out her pistol, which she'd brought just in case, and banged three times on the door. No answer.

She was about to kick it down when Hector whispered a quick, "wait!" and pointed down the street. Out of the mist came a hunched figure, limping towards them. It was only a matter of seconds before Margaret could make out the battered face of Loring, who looked certainly worse for wear but alive enough to carry himself.

Margaret stormed up to him, cocking her pistol and pressing it to his head while he whimpered. He tried to hold his hands up in protest, but hardly had the energy to fight back and instead cowered like abused animal.

"Where is she?" Margaret pushed the barrel of the gun harder into his skull, causing him to shudder.

"It weren't _my_ fault, miss. If it were, would I look like this?" He jerked a finger to the blood dripping from a cut on his head.

"If it wasn't your fault, you wouldn't _be_ here right now," Margaret said coldly. "Now, what happened?"

"What do you think?" Loring spat. "Couple o' officers caught her coming in with the goods. Said they would take me too, less I gave 'em names and whereabouts of other dealers on the island. I'd like to say I was strong, but there's only so much beating a man of me age can take. Rita, though, she wouldn't open up for nothing, and now she'll pay the price."

"That's because she's not a coward," hissed Margaret. "They took her to a holding cell, I presume?"

"They didn't finish her off or nothing, so I expect so. P-please don't shoot. I swear I didn't turn her in or nothin'. You know I've never done anything wrong by you! I've never betrayed you!"

"No, you haven't. Not until it most mattered, at least."

For a moment, Hector was sure she was going to kill the man. For a moment, Margaret was too. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head, watching as she showed a vengeful side to her that had been reawakened. She needed someone to pay, not just for this but for everything. The thought of Rita as bloodied as the pathetic sap before her burned in her mind.

After a breath, Margaret knocked Loring hard in the head with the handle of her pistol, rendering him unconscious in the street. With a look of disdain, she stowed her weapon once more and turned to face Hector.

"I need you to do something for me," she said quietly.

"Anything," Hector replied, trying not to sound surprised.

"Offer me and my crew safe passage to…to England."

"Safe passage is never a certainty on a pirate's ship," He gave a half smile. "But seein' as it's that or the gallows, I'll gladly take ye along for the ride. With the state of things, we ought to leave tonight."

The state of things. Not but a few months ago, St. Kitts was a paradise. Now people were being taken and beaten from the streets. No, they weren't safe there and Margaret regretted not leaving the moment they'd landed. The thought of home had clouded her judgement, and now she had to act fast and smartly. Now she could finally think clearly, and the only thing on her mind was protecting Rita. Protecting her family.

"Good. Get to my house, load everything you can onto the Pearl. Leave a dinghy for us, and we'll meet you."

"And just what will you be doing?"

"Breaking my friend out of prison, of course."

For once, he knew not to protest. He kissed her hard.

"We'll give ye two hours. Don't get yerself killed, alright?"

Margaret laughed, in spite of everything.

"Only because you requested."


	21. A Fresh Finish

It hadn't been long enough since the last time Margaret encountered a dark cell. She was reminded eerily of _The Valiant's_ brig, the only cage that had ever contained her. In all her time as a misfit, she'd always evaded capture by the skin of her teeth. She thought herself slippery and sly, just one jump ahead of the gallows. She'd felt invincible.

It had taken years to break her, years of watching friends die to make her question her clandestine belief in immortality. Yet through it all, she was still alive. She was relatively unharmed. Some nights, like the night she lost her brother, she wondered why she had remained for this long. What had kept her going? She bled, like everyone else, but had never been drained of blood. She made mistakes, like everyone else, but reconciled. She took risks, but had never drowned in them. Often she wondered if she was being saved for a miraculous, honorable end and she was being protected by some omnipotent being until the time came. It was wishful thinking.

Though Margaret had given up the hope of being a savior long ago, she had pretended that at least Rita-her good, kind Rita—would always be safe at her side. Yet even that couldn't hold true.

One well timed blast in the shabby brick wall, curtesy of the twins, revealed her cowering in a smelly, damp cell. Margaret almost didn't recognize her. Bruised and cut everywhere but her legs, which were revealed only by the ripped hem of her dress, Rita looked like a small child as she cowered on the floor. She looked up at the hole that had just announced her freedom, bits of debris in her hair.

"'Bout time," She muttered, stumbling to her feet.

Margaret reached out to pull her through, just as shouts were heard around the corner.

"Isabelle could only hold them off for so long," said Oscar. "We better get to the docks."

Everyone nodded and took off running. They had become quite god at running in formation, ensuring they stayed together with speed and strength. The first officer came hurdling around a corner.

"Here! They've gone this wa-"

BANG. The man collapsed to the ground, his words lost to a scream as he clutched his bleeding leg. Margaret kept her pistol drawn, and the others followed suit.

"You always did have a thing for shooting people in the leg," Oswald commented.

"It's my signature shot," Margaret smiled over at him while she ran. There was neo a need to add "murder" to their list of crimes tonight. She wondered what her daughter would think if she ever found out what a gun-slinger her mother was. Maybe the child wouldn't have to know.

The dock was dark and empty, thankfully. Perhaps people had heard the shouting and went running. On the downside, the water was always the first place an escaped prisoner would go. Sure enough, a horde of officers came down the road after them. From around a corner, another figure raced towards them. Isabelle had caught up, but with two men on her tail.

"Nice night for a stroll!" She called, turning to shoot at the men while she ran backwards. They collapsed in a heap, but the rest of the armed officials were in hot pursuit. They had large rifles with bayonets, which they couldn't quite use while on the move. No, Margaret could see where this was heading. They would corner them at the docks and fire at will.

Time was still on their side. The dingy Barbossa had left them was at the far end, and Oscar was already untying it. In they shuffled, Isabelle jumping aboard just as they pushed off. And then, inevitably, the quiet night became riddled with gunshots.

Everyone ducked as low as they could, but they were still too close to shore. Oswald was rowing ferociously, while Margaret, Isabelle, and Oscar did their best to block him from the rain of bullets. They fired back at shore, but the only damage their short-range pistols accomplished was adding to the deafening cacophony. Rita managed to get hold of Oswald's piece and join in the shooting, but with little added benefit.

"I'm out," Isabelle said, chucking her empty gun aside.

"Go faster!" Oscar shouted.

"We're running for our lives, you really think I'm not going at top speed?" yelled Oswald. "ARGH!"

A bullet had pierced his shoulder. He dropped the oars and howled in pain. Oscar rushed to his aid, pressing down hard on the wound.

"Margaret," Rita's voice rose in panic. "They're wheeling out the canons. And a few are heading to the boats. We're not going to make it."

Margaret looked ashore and saw she was right. So much for justice; they really wanted to blow them out of the water. She looked at her wounded mate, and the fear in her friends' eyes. Then she saw the tip of a familiar bow, poking around the corner of a cliff in the not-to-distant distance. _The Pearl_ was coming to meet them. Was it too late? Margaret threw her pistol down as well.

"Like hell we're not," She said, and grabbed hold of the sides of the boat. She rocked it back and forth until the sides began to rise out of the water. Rita caught on, and started to help.

"Are you crazy?" Isabelle shouted over the din.

"Absolutely!" Margaret said. "Oscar, hang onto your brother!"

After another minute of rocking, the dinghy finally gave in. They capsized tremendously, spilling out into the dark, murky abyss. Margaret resurfaced under the shallow breathing space the overturned boat provided. She was followed by the rest of her crew, who were all gasping and disoriented.

"Well," Rita coughed. "It'll provide us some cover. But how do we know which way to go?"

"The way we were pointing of course," Margaret said simply. And they began to swim. It was a lot to ask of their tired bodies, but they heard a cannon fire and their will to live pushed them forward. They could hang onto the seats and kick with their legs to move their awkward escape mechanism. Oswald was in agony, the saltwater stinging his fresh injury. Yet they persisted.

"I'm…I'm sorry, everyone. I got us into this mess," Rita panted out halfway through their journey. The sounds of rifles had subsided somewhat.

"We would've found ourselves in that mess sooner or later," Isabelle said gently.

Rita said nothing. Margaret knew she wouldn't be willing to accept forgiveness that easily. At that moment, the boat's hull began to rock. Voices could be heard above. They all looked at each other, certain that this was it. The officers had caught up to them.

But it was many pairs of grubby hands that lifted up the side of the dinghy, and familiar faces that greeted them from their own little boat, the base of _The Pearl_ filling their entire background. They'd made it, somehow. Margaret wondered dully if it was luck after all that kept her alive.

Hector was already at the helm, sending the ship into fast motion the moment they had touched down onto the deck. Once they were well on their way, he handed off the wheel to his first mate and went to greet the gang of smugglers.

"That's some stir ye caused lass," He called to Rita as he approached. "But glad to see ye've not yet been killed."

"Thanks," Rita half smiled.

"This all of ye?" Hector looked around at the small group.

"Edmund elected to stay behind," Margaret said quietly. "The boy's got a life for himself there, and nothing to tie him to us."

"She tricked him, poor lad," Oscar said. "But mother knows best."

Yes, Edmund had wanted to join them in their escape but Margaret had sent him to the other side of the island with a false mission to occupy him. As he walked away from them, she could tell he knew he was being played. The fact that he didn't protest told her she was doing the right thing. He would be safe there. He wasn't meant for the harsh reality of a smuggler's life. They hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. She thought briefly that perhaps it was better that way, but with a jerk she remembered all the times she hadn't gotten to say goodbye and realized the cruelty behind it.

"Where to, then, captains?" Rita asked.

"To England, as per Smyth's request," Hector raised an eyebrow.

Rita rolled her eyes.

"We're escaping back to the place we first escaped from," She said. "Is the irony lost on everyone?"

"Not at all," Margaret replied with a sad smile.

"It'll be a fresh start!" Isabelle said brightly.

"I'd like a fresh bandage at the moment," Oswald winced, grabbing his shoulder. Fortunately the bullet had only grazed him, and though the wound was bloody there was no metal inside him. Oscar and Isabelle helped him get below decks. Before joining them, Rita turned to Margaret.

"Thank you," She breathed, wrapping her arms around her friend.

"If you thought for one second I would leave you to rot, you're an idiot," Margaret laughed in her ear.

Rita smiled shakily, then with a nod at Hector over Margaret's shoulder, she went off. Margaret and Hector faced each other, not entirely able to find words right away. The deck had become quiet again, which was a strange contrast to the bustle it had been not moments ago. But the ship was on the open ocean now, and St. Kitts but a speck in the distance and soon to be her memory.

She leaned over the side where Hector joined her, gazing out at the stars. There was a foggy haze blurring their view.

"Can't even see Carina," she murmured. "Not like the night we met."

"A lot's not like the night we met," Hector sighed. "Ye do understand, I hope, that it's a damn miracle none of ye were hurt worse?"

"I'm not a fool or a child, so stop treating me like one," Margaret snapped. "Of course I know that."

"I'm only sayin-"

"You're worried. Uncharacteristically so, I might add."

Hector chuckled and put his rough hand on hers atop the ship's rim.

"Yer here. That's what matters."

Margaret bit her lip as she looked at him.

"Hector, this could be my life, you know. Sailing with you. The others would be happy in England, but I…I could stay."

"Do ye remember Bootstrap Turner?"

It was not the response she was expecting.

"Yes…why?" She asked, taken aback.

"He had a son, a while back. His namesake. I don't reckon many pirates work as hard to keep their family safe as he did when he was part of me crew. But there ye have it. I didn't know about the kid 'til after we sent the man to the depths of hell. Out there was the child of a pirate who had no idea who he really was. Of course, he learned well enough when we needed the boy's blood and had to hunt him down, but those were unusual circumstances…"

"Would you have still killed him had you known about the child?"

"Yes," He answered truthfully. "That's why I keep thinking 'bout old Bootstrap. Have been ever since ye told me I was to be a father. How did he do it? How did he protect him all that time?"

"By keeping his distance," Margaret guessed ruefully. "You came to this conclusion for yourself?"

Hector gripped her hand tighter, looking into her eyes with genuine pain.

"A child by my name would only be in danger," He said. "Anywhere ye go on globe."

"Hector, I forbid you to abandon us," Margaret tried to steady her voice. "You can dump me in England, leave to seek your treasure, but you can never _not_ come back to me. I'll go mad!"

"I'm only trying to think about what's noble, for once in my life!" said Hector, shaking. "Think about it, Smyth…were we even meant to be? You deserve far better than an old fiend like me."

Margaret stepped back, looking at the man she loved with a twist of anger and pity.

"Meant to be? Of course we're not 'meant to be', Hector. Is anyone? If we were, we'd be in a home right now. _Our_ home, with a little bed and maybe a fire if we could afford it. But we're not, because…that's not who we are. The odds are ever working against us, they always have been, and yet somehow we managed to fall in love. Somehow we kept coming back to each other. No, not somehow. I _know_ how. It was because we wanted to. In spite of everything. That' _s_ not 'meant to be'. That's _choice_."

Hector looked at her for a moment, then pressed her hand to his lips.

"I thought I'd give it another try. Bein' a man of honor and all… But if yer mind's made up, I'll never let ye go. Not if I have the choice."

He kissed her, and it felt as electrifying and sweet as mead. When they parted, Hector chuckled, returning to his usual playful aura.

"So what's the plan, dear heart? If ye have one?"

"I've thought it all out," Margaret said with a grin. "I'll open up a shop. Perhaps a flower or hat, something 'lady-like'. From there we'll conduct business, as no one would dare suspect anything unsavory from such a common place."

"Enticing," Hector ran his hands along her waist.

"You'll visit every chance you get. I'll have a beautiful yellow house with a view of the sea. We'll have nights of bliss and passion, so sublime you'll sometimes forget all about your ship."

"Isn't that a challenge," He chuckled.

"And we'll be happy. And we'll miss each other when we're away, but we'll be happy because we'll know the other is thinking of us."

"Too right ye are. I didn't know ye were such a dreamer, lass."

"It's not dreaming. Its only practicality," She pecked him on the cheek. "Just you wait. I'll show you."

And she did. And for a while, they would, in fact, be happy.


	22. Letters to the Sea

"It'd be about that time."

The sun highlighted the flecks of auburn in Hector's hair as he sat on the corner of the bed, taking an inordinate amount of time to lace up his boots. Margaret was sitting on the floor and leaning her head out the window, staring wistfully at the rising sun and the blue color of the water becoming more and more saturated with every ray. It was too similar to the last time they parted, and for a moment she felt like the seventeen year old girl again, missing a man she hardly knew before he'd even walked out the door. She was decidedly pretending not to hear him, an act she was sure she could keep up forever if it meant he wouldn't go. But he would go, with or without her goodbye.

A week. That was all they'd had together in their new, modest home. It went by in anxiety, Margaret kept awake by the worry that they were not yet out of the lion's den despite Hector's constant reassurance. They were safe. She couldn't quite accept it yet, but she tried not to let on. And then there was the foreboding knowledge that soon she would be left alone. Even Rita, who shared the home with her, would be off and sailing again soon. It was strange to fear loneliness, especially when it was something she'd known so well for most of her life. She'd been overindulged by company in the recent time.

She inhaled deeply the crisp air, her nose burning ever so slightly from the smell of the fish market below. Hector's presence, despite his growing annoyance, soothed her. She needed to remember this moment, when all seemed right. Just in case.

"Ye can't ignore me forever, Smyth," Hector leaned forward on the bed.

She ran her fingers along the windowsill, picking up the dust in a heap and sprinkling it off onto the cobblestone street.

"Margaret."

She turned to him. He was watching her with devoted eyes and a scolding mouth. She crawled over to the bed and kissed that mouth.

"It won't be long," He whispered, any irritation instantly melting away.

"Not ten years this time?

"I think not," He chuckled. "Don't even bother tryin' to miss me. I'll be back before ye know it."

He pulled her in closer and rested his hands on her waist. Margaret turned her cheek, unable to keep looking into those cloudy irises, but moved her body deeper into his arms so she was secure.

"That better not be an empty promise," she simpered.

"You'll see. I'll bring back gold like ye've never imagined, and ye'll be sorry ye even thought to prevent me from leavin'," He pressed his forehead to hers and grinned mischievously.

Hector was outstandingly confident that he would have no trouble plundering the royal Italian riches that Regis didn't live to intercept. Margaret, however, couldn't help but dismiss his cockiness, for fear he was in over his head.

"I'd much rather you came back empty handed than not at all."

"I've got no intention of dyin' again. Least not 'til I'm good and ready. 'Sides," Hector ran his hand over her stomach where the small trace of a bump had begun to form. "I have fairly good reason to return."

Margaret pressed her lips to his ear.

"Only think of me in good spirits."

"And you me. Ye better not be sulkin' or moping while I'm gone," He chided playfully.

"That's not me," Margaret forced a smile.

"'Course not."

They remained in their embrace for as long as they could, seconds seeping quickly into minutes. It became a blur in her mind, how they had eventually let go. How he had gotten up off the bed. How she applied his hat with a last kiss. Then, finally, how he had shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the room that suddenly felt much more large and sparse. She didn't go down to the docks with him, not this time. Instead she rushed back to her window and watched as his figure became smaller and smaller. And, despite her pledge, she wept.

She wasn't sure how long she let her tears fall, but each time she tried to compose herself they would spill out faster still. Her shoulders shook and she felt weak, like she was being quickly drained of substance. _Pull yourself together…pull it together_. Why couldn't she cope?

A knock at the door silenced her sobs. The visitor did not wait for a response to enter, and when Rita saw her friend in a heap on the floor, she knelt at her side and held her for as long as it took.

Days past, and Margaret's recovery was slow. She did everything tiredly, as though she were not yet quite present in her surroundings. She wasn't completely dysfunctional, but she wasn't whole either.

"It's going to be difficult, I know," Rita said gently one morning. "Everything's changed, now, and missing someone doesn't help. But what if you could talk to him?"

"That's not possible," Margaret replied flatly.

"What I mean is, any time there's something you want to say to him while he's gone, write a letter. I know you can't send it," Rita raised her voice to silence Margaret's beginning protests. "Just write. Then, when he comes back, you can give them to him."

Initially, she thought it was a foolish idea. What relief would that provide if she couldn't receive a reply? But she knew Rita was trying, so she hugged her tight and whispered, "Thank you."

Yet soon enough, Margaret found herself turning to the solace of a blank parchment and quill.

* * *

 _Dear Hector,_

 _I never thought I would envy the sea. I know I'm no match for her, but I can hardly look at the waves anymore without thinking about how she's holding you while I'm not. Petty, isn't it? It's tiring, competing with the ocean for your love. But I'll never stop._

 _More than anything I wish I could be with you both. Perhaps then I could go back to looking at the water as a dear friend rather than the force that keeps us apart. I know you're against it, but I dream of raising our child on the Pearl. Never staying in one place for too long, learning the laws of the tides before those of the land, and being surrounded by stars. Unconventional parenting, yes, but then again I was never much for being conventional._

 _Until I can give you this in person, all my love._

* * *

 _Hector,_

 _I dislike sleeping alone. You've spoiled me._

 _I don't mind this little town, but I do miss the color of the Caribbean waters. One thing to be said for England is that people aren't nosy. Everyone keeps to themselves with few questions asked. I finally had to tell my crew that motherhood would become me and that I'd be stepping back as leader, taking a more domestic role in the business. It was getting too hard to hide. I'm sure I was more cut up about it than they were. Rita will be a fine captain. Despite that our numbers have dwindled considerably, we've established a name for ourselves as simple rumrunners. We're starting from scratch, since most of our connections have been compromised._

 _I feel somewhat at peace, disrupted only by rising to an empty bed and an aching back. To have you at my side would complete me._

* * *

 _Hector,_

 _It's been raining for a week. When it gets like this, I worry most about you. I know how a drizzle here can mean disaster out there. Being housebound hasn't done me an ounce of good, but of course I've been told not to go outside lest I catch my death of a cold. The others haven't been too pleased either, puttering around with nothing to do, and driving me up the walls._

 _I am starting to get the hang of running a business from home, but I feel quite useless these days with Rita taking over all the interesting tasks. It's not been easy, sitting back and watching things continue without me. I don't know how mothers do it._

 _The only benefit of staying put has been Bettina. Our neighbor, a widow with five children herself, has become my friend when my crew is off on commission. Somehow, she finds time to bring me fresh produce from her garden, and healing salves. She's a hero in her own right._

 _Walking down the street alone isn't even advisable for me, anymore. Without a man at my arm, they all think I'm just another trollop who fell in too deep-In a way, I suppose I am. At least until we're officially married._

 _Married. It hardly seems like us, doesn't it? While I still can't fathom being a wife, I wouldn't want it any other way. I'm yours until you say otherwise._

* * *

 _Hector,_

 _There's an apple orchard not far from here with the greenest fruits you ever laid eyes on, and the sweetest juices to touch your lips. I'll try to save some for you, but no promises._

* * *

 _Dear Hector,_

 _What do you think of our souls?_

 _I don't know why I ask, really. I suppose my wondering began when I stumbled upon a sermon being given by the town's minister—well, more like Bettina dragged me. She prays for me, you know. I've never had anyone pray for me before, to the best of my knowledge. Anyway, as I listened to his hopeful lecture I began to question the stability of my own soul. I've never laid too much faith in any God, but I wondered if there was any purity left within me. Perhaps even enough to have me saved. Saved for what and by whom, I'm not sure._

 _I was thinking, then, about us (as so often I do). Maybe if we changed our ways, if we gave up anything remotely related to sin, we could live together in serenity. We could be rewarded in that way. You, me, and the baby as a fearless family._

 _It sounds a bit silly, but if I can believe magic exists, why shouldn't I believe in this?_

 _Mulling it over now, serenity could become dull after a while. Forget I said anything. Just return soon and I'll be happy. Hang our damaged souls._

* * *

 _Dear Hector,_

 _I've been bedridden yet again. Bettina sent for the physician, who came by this afternoon after a bit of a scare. I collapsed in our kitchen, terrifying poor Rita. He said it's because I'm over-exerting myself, but I honestly don't know how to do any less than I'm already doing. I'm too far along to sail, so I've been busying myself with the shop. I can't be unoccupied. If I'm this bad at taking care of myself I don't know how I'll be able to keep a whole other human alive. The baby's fine, by the way._

 _In a sense, I'm grateful to be forced out of the world for a while. The things I've been hearing have got me in a frenzy. I had hoped that since Beckett's defeat, the statutes against piracy would be more lenient and yet I hear things. Talk of rounding up the children of pirates to send to the gallows. Children, guilty of nothing more than their birth rights. Fortunately, if anyone asks I tell them you're a naval officer off on duty. People don't seem to care much, but should someone of mal-intent learn the true parentage of our child…I can't bear the thought. The day I first felt movement within me I was afraid, and that fear hasn't left me since. Is that just what love is like?_

 _I fear for you, too. Please don't cause too much trouble so you can return to me soon._

* * *

 _Dear Hector,_

 _I wish you had been mine to keep._

* * *

 _Dear Hector,_

 _Did we even say 'I love you' before you left?_

* * *

 _Dear Hector,_

 _Today one of Bettina's children came to see me. She brought me a glass of water, which I regrettably took a sip of and discovered she had filled it with seawater. Whether she intended it as a trick or not is still a mystery. However, she told me something as I tried to spit the bitterness from my mouth: She said the reason the ocean is salty is because it is filled with the tears of sailors. Needless to say, I was unsurprised._

 _Then what of the tears of those they leave behind? I asked her. She said those are the tears that make the sand barren, and that's why nothing grows on a beach. Essentially, our sorrows do the world no good. That kind of youthful logic is refreshing, nonetheless._

 _I was trying to remember what it was like to be a child, but I could only recall what it was to grow up. When I stopped hearing the ocean in the shells I'd hold up to my ear, and started to hear only the inescapable chaos of my own mind. When illusion was broken._

 _But I realized that wasn't' a bad thing. With illusion gone, I could see magic and dreams for what they really were. I could love more fully. I could_ _ **be**_ _more fully._

 _I'm excited beyond measure to watch our own child experience such an evolution._

* * *

 _Hector,_

 _Sometimes I wake up and wonder if I dreamed you. It's worse when you're not here, but even when you were beside me and I could feel your warmth through the sheets… it felt unreal. Too perfect for our otherwise crooked lives. I often think about whether or not we deserve each other. You've never told me I'm "sent from the heavens" or that I'm an angel of any sort, and for that I'm grateful. It means you know me. But you still want me. And to that, I can only say the same about you, my love._

 _After all is said and done, I'm just another poor girl whose heart was snatched by a pirate. Or did I snatch yours?_

* * *

She stowed them in her bureau under some linens. By the time he returned at last, she had forgotten all about them.


	23. Before the Storm

Margaret spotted the familiar feathered hat bobbing in the street below before she saw the rest of him. It took everything she had not to race down the stairs, but she had decided long ago that she would make _him_ come to _her_ when he returned. If he returned. If he was back, truly back, she would not believe it until he was standing in her doorway. Dramatic? Yes. Dignifying? She thought so. That, and walking up and down the stairs was much too difficult in her condition.

Rita had a far more practical approach, and went outside the shop to greet him. He'd come alone, the men already scattered about town. He flashed her a toothy grin when she opened the door, the tinkling little bell going wild.

"Come to buy a hat, sir? I'm sure we can find one that fits even _your_ swelled head," Rita smirked, allowing him to sidestep inside. Indeed, he looked more proud than usual. He bore more gold rings than she'd ever seen him wear, and a belt with a bright silver buckle encrusted with small gems.

"As ye can see, I've already got a fine lid on me," Hector growled good-naturedly. "Business booming, eh?"

"Hardly," sighed Rita. "But we get by. The others are off on a transport right now, in fact. Some bloke had a huge shipment of Irish ale he's selling off to the Iberian Peninsula."

"Thought ye'd be off with 'em, seein' as yer runnin' things now now."

Rita tried not to look scorned by the comment, and plucked a bonnet off a hat tree to dust it off.

"I elected to stay behind for this round," She muttered. "Someone needs to see to the shop, handle any incoming enterprises, and what with Margaret…"

She trailed off, pretending to be distracted by a small scratch on the hat's fabric.

"What about her?" Hector pressed. "How is she?"

"Fine, fine," Rita said, almost too quickly. "It's just, it won't be long now. The physician gave her about two weeks, maybe three. I wanted to be around."

Hector stepped closer, his cheery disposition evaporating with each moment.

"There's somethin' else, isn't there."

Rita looked at him, her eyes trembling ever so slightly with worry.

"She's…she's been sick. Or, getting sick. Or the baby's making her sick, or…She's had a fever twice in the past month, each time overcoming it just fine. Our neighbor's been taking care of her far better than the physician or me, but I don't know that it's enough. She's weak," The last word was a whisper, for she'd never thought she'd ever call Margaret Smyth "weak".

"Where is she?" Hector asked softly.

"Upstairs."

Without another word, Hector stalked forward past Rita and began clumping up the steps. Margaret could hear him long before he thrust open her door. When their eyes met, she could see his face alight the way it had the first time she told him she loved him back on The Black Pearl. She could also see his reaction to her sunken cheeks and tired smile, which was one of apprehension. However, she did not leave him time to dwell on her appearance as she stood up from her seat by the window and hurried into his arms. He held her, soundlessly, for as long as he could, his face buried in her neck until he had to come up for air. He began to kiss every part of her he could reach, as though she were the idol of a goddess. She welcomed it, the smell of the seawater blending harmoniously with the rose scent on the fabric of her dress. When at last he pulled away, he remained inches from her mouth, studying the paleness of her skin.

"Margaret. My Margaret," he whispered, caressing her cheek. She looked fatigued, but she was still every ounce the woman he loved.

"You're back," was all she could utter.

"Don't sound so surprised."

Hector smiled and kissed her once more for good measure, as though to prove she was there.

"Ye've gotten larger," He joked.

"They told me that would happen," Margaret rolled her eyes. "And you've gotten…shinier."

There was a glint in his eye as he took Margaret's hand in both of his.

"The heist went far better than expected. Ye wouldn't believe the blundering idiots they hired to protect the goods, but those Italians surrendered in the first five minutes of battle. Riches like I'd never seen, and mine for the taking," He sounded as giddy as a schoolboy.

Margaret was still too relieved to admonish him for his bloodshed, and even shared in his relish. A successful sail meant it would at least be a while before he left again. He would see the birth of his child. They could begin to raise her together, properly.

"I've got somethin' to show ye," He said suddenly, relinquishing her only to reach the satchel at his side. "Still have that old ruby?"

She grinned, not even justifying the question with an answer as she went over to her bureau and pulled it out of a drawer .When she turned back to him, he was holding a small leather journal.

"Galileo's diary?" Her eyes widened and she rushed over for a better look.

"The one and only," Hector's voice became mysterious, as often it did when he began to tell a ghost story. "It's said to contain the Map No Man Can Read."

"A map to what, exactly?"

"Some say its clues lead to the whereabouts of Poseidon's trident," Hector raised his eyebrows.

Margaret tried not to seem dubious, for she could hardly have looked upon magic and remain non-believing. Yet something about the trident seemed like too much of an obscurity.

"Is that not just an old wives tale?" She asked, smirking just slightly.

"No one can say for sure. But if there's any luck in the world, I'll be the one to find out," Hector held his hand out for the ruby.

She didn't give it to him just yet. She noticed, in that moment, an indentation on the cover of the diary. It was shaped exactly like their gem. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she delicately placed it in the open spot. As expected, it was a perfect fit. The two of them stared at it for a moment.

"Nothing happened," Margaret noted.

"Yes, well," Hector didn't try to hide his disappointment. "At least the pieces are back together. The book will tell me enough on its own."

"Already onto your next adventure, then?"

Hector looked up at Margaret, who was wearing a tightlipped frown. Her frustration was not at all subtle. Tossing the journal on the bed, he swept her into his arms once more.

"Dove, there'll be no more adventures 'til you and the child are at my side."

All was abnormally well for one content week. The only arguing that occurred was when Hector broached the topic of marriage. Margaret wanted to wait until the baby came, to spare her the humiliation of meeting with a pastor while clearly both unmarried and pregnant. Hector, on the other hand, chided her prudishness and attempted to persuade her otherwise. She could not be moved, and so they carried out the days unlawfully bound, but bound nonetheless.

The shores were grassy and kind, and it was there that the two would spend the afternoons, counting ships on the horizon and talking dreamily about the future. More and more, however, Hector began to notice the fragility that had taken over Margaret. She was feverish at night, and tossed and turned relentlessly in her sleep. She ached when she moved, and had developed a delicate cough. The fierce woman was fading fast. Hector could no longer sit by and watch, despite her constant claims than she was fine.

"Yet not _fine,_ Smyth," He replied one evening after they'd returned from a walk. "Ye must know that."

Margaret looked at Hector from the bed with anguish and iciness.

"I'm not a fool. I know I haven't been well. That's…not uncommon for women in my situation," She said quietly.

"Then ye must know it's not uncommon for women not to make it through _your situation_ ," He spat out. His shoulders were shaking and he was breathing heavily. It was clear he'd been thinking about it for some time, but at last when the words left him he wished he could take them back.

"I know."

Hector looked at her desperately, searching for reassurance that she simply wasn't giving this time. She was staring out the window, avoiding his pleading gaze. He rushed over to her, kneeling at her bedside and cupping her face in his hands so she couldn't look away.

"Margaret, just see the physician again—"

"There's no medicine he can give me that won't hurt the baby. Hector, please. There's nothing left to do! Whatever happens…"

"Don't finish that thought," He whispered. "I'm not going to lose you or the child. I can't."

Margaret reached out to stroke his face.

"You won't."

"Ye can't know that."

"I…" She thought of how she could, with absolute surety, promise the man a daughter. That would soothe his nerves. It had certainly calmed her in the recent months, remembering that the future of her child was set. But she couldn't say the same about her own.

Hector suddenly grabbed Margaret's hand so tightly she thought he might break something.

"Circe's workshop! There's bound to be somethin' in there that'll cure ye. A potion, a spell…This time we'd have to be sure to read the labels, but I'm sure there'll be a healer. If I leave tonight I can be back before the child's born. I'll take Rita with me!"

Margaret's face contorted in disgust.

"After everything… _everything_ , you want to put your faith in dark magic?"

"It could be yer best hope!"

"Why can't _hope_ be my best hope, Hector?"

"Have some sense, woman!" His anger rose steadily.

"You're not thinking straight," Margaret said slowly. "You must know that."

She tried to lift herself up from the bed, her arms just barely helping her to a seated position. A brief stabbing pain made her clench her eyes tight, and the expression did not go unnoticed.

"Please…" Hector began to beg.

"I won't resort to such drastic measures. Not after the last time that place was opened," She cut him off firmly. She let her hand drift to her stomach. "The baby will come. And it will live."

"Even if it does, it'll be at yer own expense, Margaret!"

"Typically that's how we all come into the world, yes. No one said it was easy."

"Yer already frail to the bone."

"I wish you'd stop worrying."

"What do ye expect me to do, then?" He roared, standing up. "I won't let ye die!"

She bit her lip, wondering in that moment what she must have looked like. Once strong, once brave. Now breaking. Perhaps this was a new kind of brave, the type that came with acceptance. Yes, there was so much to be uncertain about, but if the only truth she could know was that her child survives, then it would be worth the fear of what may come. She would never admit it to the man cowering before her, but she was even more afraid than he could imagine.

"I don't know what you should do. Pray, maybe?" There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but in reality her suggestion was genuine. Hector did not take it as such.

"Prayer never helped anyone, especially those who're already hell bound like meself."

Margaret fell silent. He had dropped her hand, and it felt sore where he'd gripped it. Gently massaging it, she looked at him, coldness in her eyes.

"I forbid you to go searching for potions."

"Ye can't forbid me to do nothin'."

"I won't take anything you bring back."

Hector let out a noise somewhere between a hiss and a scoff. He was in agony.

"Then perhaps yer far more of a fool than ye thought," He said. With that, he stormed out the door, leaving Margaret in bed with tears rolling down her cheeks.

He knew her stubbornness would prove a trip to the workshop fruitless. Still, he couldn't bear to be in the same room any longer. This was the woman he had chosen; a woman too obstinate, too daring, too pure-hearted, too ridiculous. And perfect in every way. All of a sudden, Hector imagined her years from now, older but just as fiery, on the deck of his ship with three of their children laughing as they learned the proper way to wield a sword. The vision was almost too clear, like it was truly a memory. In another instant, it washed away. When he tried to force it back, to picture his offspring and a happy and healthy Margaret, the images were blurred and streaked.

Hector sat alone in the tavern. The bar was filled with similarly somber drunkards, and the atmosphere fit his mood adeptly. He looked into his empty pint and heaved a great sigh. For someone who had gone so long without feeling, the wave of emotions that the thoughts of a bright future induced were almost too vitalizing.

"Bring that back to me," he whispered to no one in particular. "Let a twice-dead man finally live." That was as much prayer as he'd ever spoken, save for when he was a small lad.

For a moment, he thought that maybe this was the reason he'd been brought back. Not for a deal with Calypso, not to save Jack Sparrow. To find Margaret again. To love her, even. That's what it felt like, at least, and he wanted more than anything to trust what he felt over his own logic. Never did he feel more present than when her skin touched his, when she laughed, or when she was simply beside him. Maybe that was life after all. Then again, it only brought pain alongside euphoria. What a cruel balance.

Whether or not his purpose was to love Margaret, he was still himself. A brute. A heathen. A pirate. Never once did she compromise this, but that night he realized he would give himself up in an instant if she asked. Was that weakness? It seemed that way. He didn't care.

Hector was on his way to purchasing yet another drink when the tavern door burst open. It took him a few seconds to register the form of Rita, dripping from the rain. She saw him instantly and swept through the tables in a flash. Her cheeks were red and she was out of breath, and she looked at Hector as though she were accusing him of something dreadful, yet she would not meet his eyes.

"Rita?" He said sloppily. "What's-? Margaret?" His stomach plummeted, as she could only be there for one thing.

"The baby's coming," Rita said through clenched teeth. "You'd better hurry."


	24. Carina

Pain. Unbearable pain that twisted Margaret's face so violently it was almost unrecognizable. Rita couldn't help but feel every ounce of it. That was simply the plight of seeing someone she loved hurting. She was stricken the moment she and Hector entered the busy bedroom that had been so peaceful mere hours before. Two midwives, a physician, and the neighbor Bettina crowded around the bed, but Rita pushed them aside as though they weren't there to get to her friend. She knelt by her side and squeezed Margaret's arm tight. The woman was panting, but could still force a smile.

"You're doing well, Margaret," Rita whispered. "So well." She brushed sweaty strands of hair from her pallid face.

"Haven't done much of anything yet," Margaret muttered, swallowing hard. She spotted Hector standing in the corner of the room, shuffling uncomfortably, too afraid to approach. Their eyes met, and she tried so hard to look reassuring. She even extended a hand to draw him near. Just as he was about to reach out and take it, however, Margaret let out a harsh cry.

"She's bleeding," One of the midwives whispered. The physician sprang into action, pulling Rita unwillingly to her feet.

"What does that mean?" Rita asked frantically, but no one seemed to have heard her.

"I'm going to have to ask you two to wait outside," the physician said, ushering Rita and Hector to the door.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Rita shouted. Hector looked too exhausted to protest.

"It'll be better for everyone," the physician said in an irritatingly sympathetic voice, like he was talking to a pair of children. "It may take a while. Go have yourselves a drink and try not to worry."

Without warning, he slammed the door in their faces. The walls did nothing to drown the sounds of Margaret's cries, which were more tortuous to hear than a wailing ghost.

They stood in silence for a long moment, frozen in place while they could only imagine what was happening on the other side of the door. Then, Hector gruffly shook his head and trudged downstairs. Rita hesitated, then followed him, deciding he would be much better company than the dark hallway and her friend's yells.

The street was quiet, and even the sound of the ocean seemed duller somehow. It was like the whole world was waiting with baited breath. After more quiet and stillness, Hector began distractedly rummaging through the kitchen.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rita spat.

"Looking for a drink," Hector mumbled. "Per the doctor's orders."

Rita sighed, but went to a crate in the corner of the room and pulled out two bottles of rum. She unstoppered them both, and thrust one at the sullen pirate. He took it with a nod, and downed the whole thing in one go.

"Doesn't seem fair to be frivolous while Margaret's upstairs giving birth to your child," Rita said, sinking back into a chair. She took a small swig in spite of it.

"Ye ought to drink when yer fretting just as much as when ye seek pleasure," Hector wiped the drops of rum from his beard with his sleeve.

"By that logic we should be drunk all the time."

"Aye, and why not?"

Another pause, in which shuffling and hushed voices could be heard upstairs, overlaying unceasing whimpering.

"Are you ready, then?" Rita asked suddenly. "To be a father and all?"

"Couldn't say, to be honest," Hector sat across from her, slumped and slightly slurring. "A pirate's life is on the sea, and until the child's old enough to board the Pearl, I expect I won't be around much. It'll just be another person to miss me while I'm away."

"So you're not staying long? Even this time?"

"Haven't had the heart to tell Margaret yet, but me crew's received word of a lone royal frigate setting off in a few months' time—"

"Will you never be satisfied?"

Hector looked like he'd been struck. It was the question Margaret had asked him not too long ago, though it felt like eons. A question he could not truthfully answer, nor would he ever be able to. He couldn't both be satisfied and happy at the same time. He'd known from the beginning that a pirate father would endanger the life of his child, and though Margaret refused to see that, he'd never stop thinking about it. He had to keep his distance. As much as he could bear.

"This is how I'll keep them safe," He whispered. "This is how I'll keep them wealthy, and happy."

"You know Margaret would prefer to have you home than all the riches in the world, stupid as she is," Rita scoffed. "She doesn't think about the danger."

"I know."

"But I do. And I think you're right to keep yourself at bay."

Hector couldn't help but smile sadly. Rita still didn't care much for him, but at least she liked him enough to be truthful.

"That makes one of us, lass."

Hours and hours passed in dreadful apprehension. The two waited dutifully a floor beneath Margaret, rooted to their chairs. Sleep somehow creeped in on the both of them, and eventually they had drifted off into a restless doze. Rita was half awake when she heard it: a woman's cries subsiding, only to be replaced with the cries of much smaller lungs.

She nudged Hector from across the table, where he was lightly snoring with his face buried in his arms. He rose into consciousness at once, and listened. With one wide eyed look, they leapt to their feet, practically climbing over one another to get to the stairs first.

When they reached the hallway, the physician was already exiting the bedroom.

"Well?" Hector almost shouted at the man before he could open his mouth.

"You have a daughter."

Hector let out a sigh of relief and joy. Somehow, part of him always knew it would be a girl. He could already picture her looking just like her mother…

Rita, on the other hand, immediately sensed the trepidation in the physician's voice.

"And Margaret?" She asked quietly. The man took out a cloth and dabbed at his forehead. He looked more tired than forlorn.

"I'm afraid…it's taken everything out of her. It was a difficult birth, I was surprised she even made it this far. She's incredibly strong."

"What are you saying?" Rita began to tremble. "She's…dying?"

Before anyone could react, Hector grabbed the man by his collar and thrust him up against the wall.

"Ye better do somethin'," He growled. "Get back in there and save her!"

"I-I've done all I can! I'm sorry! The child is perfectly healthy. It's unfortunate, but these things do happen," The man fidgeted beneath Hector's grasp. The pirate dropped him roughly, looking ready to run him through where he stood.

"Not to Margaret they don't," Rita murmured, and she burst into the bedroom.

There she was. Lying like a porcelain doll against the pillow that was almost as pale as she, looking nothing like the same woman that had once stabbed a naval man in an alley, or faced off with Captain Morgan. The only indication that there was still some part of her ignited, was the weak hand she had placed on the bundle in Bettina's arms.

"Let me hold her again," Margaret was whispering as Rita entered. She suddenly felt like she did not belong there, but when her friend saw her she smiled.

Bettina started to protest, but thought better of it. She handed off the blankets to Margaret, who looked down adoringly. Rita felt rooted to the spot, petrified and feeling like she was intruding on a dream that was not her own.

"Rita, stop standing around like a suborn ox and come here," said Margaret hoarsely. Even in her frailty, she managed to find the energy to roll her eyes.

Rita nodded and quietly hurried over. When she was close enough, she could hear Margaret's labored breathing and she felt sick to her stomach. She looked from Margaret's small smile to the sleeping infant in her arms. The child had Margaret's dark hair and smooth skin. Tears burned like acid in her eyes all at once.

"Margaret," Rita choked out.

"Shhh. It's alright. It's alright, my love."

"It's not, it's not—!"

They were distracted by the creaking of floorboards as someone else entered the room. Hector had made his way in. His hat had been left downstairs, and somehow without it he seemed far more pitiable. Rita bit her lip and stepped back to the corner of the room, acknowledging that it was his turn. He moved slowly, taking in the scene with each delicate step of his boot. When he reached Margaret, before he could open his mouth, she shifted the swaddled child in her arms towards him.

"Take her," she said. Every word seemed to drain her. "Take our girl. Carina."

He did as he was told, holding the baby and looking at her like a man seeing a star for the very first time.

"Carina," He repeated softly. "It's perfect. She's perfect."

The two shared silence while their daughter slept, both remembering the night they'd met. The night Carina lit up the sky. It was as though she was always meant to be. Margaret reached a shaking hand up to brush the child's forehead.

"You can't see because she's sleeping," she whispered, thin tears rolling down her cheeks. "But she has your eyes."

Hector took hold of the woman's hand, balancing Carina in one arm. Her hand felt light, like it didn't really belong to her anymore.

"Margaret, please," He didn't care that he was begging. He didn't care that all eyes were on them. Nothing mattered but Margaret. "Don't leave us. Don't leave her. Yer a fighter.

"The fight's all but gone out of me," she said through "Please, Hector. Give Carina the best life. She's the only thing in this world that's truly precious."

The tiny girl began to stir, looking up at her father for the first time. He knew she was right.

"I will."

This was all the promise Margaret needed. She took in a staggering breath and sighed out a relieved smile, shutting her eyes slowly as she did.

"I'm sorry," she uttered. "I wanted to be stronger."

"Yer as strong as they come. Stronger even," Hector squeezed hand tight. "Always were."

It didn't happen in a panic or with objection. It wasn't pained or prolonged. Margaret Smyth went out much the way she had conducted herself on every occasion in her life; with grace and dignity. Her tears ceased before her breath did, and the fingertips which Hector clung to were warm until the end.

He held on long after he even realized she was gone.

"Margaret," he rasped out. "Margaret!"

Carina began to whimper, and soon fell into a wailing crescendo. Bettina, who had been quietly weeping against the wall, rushed forward to take the baby from a numb Hector.

"No," said a voice from the corner as one of the midwives moved to cover Margaret. Rita stumbled out of the shadows, not yet comprehending what had happened. She shook her head as though denial would magically make it not so. She brushed past Hector, causing him to drop Margaret's hand at last. Rita ran her hands over the face she knew so well, and let out a broken sob.

Suddenly, Hector could not stand to be there any longer. He fled the room in a haze, and though he wasn't drunk anymore he felt dizzier than he ever had. He didn't stop until he was out on the street, a drizzle falling gently onto his cheeks. The world that had taken Margaret from him was a cruel world indeed, and the rain and darkness validated that notion. Not a star shone in the sky. It was as though she had taken them all with her.

He heard the front door open behind him. Rita was breathing heavily, looking at Hector with murderous eyes.

"Where are you going?" She asked in a deadly voice.

"What does it matter?"

Hector didn't see her strike, but only when Rita punched him did feeling begin to return to his face. To her surprised, he chuckled as he stood up again.

"How long have ye been wanting to do that?"

"You have a daughter."

"Aye," Hector said, rubbing his cheek. "One that I believe we both agreed would be far better off without me."

"Things are different now!"

"What do ye expect me to do? I can't take the girl with me, ye know that. I…I can't! There's nothing left for me here! Margaret's _dead!"_

Saying it made it all too real. Rita and Hector faced off, though both brutally injured, impaled by the same sword. Rita swallowed her cry.

"And just whose fault is that?" She was venomous, intent on poisoning Hector as much as she could.

"What, _mine?"_ He shouted furiously, storming up to the woman. "Ye can't be in yer right mind, blaming me for Margaret! I loved her!"

"You killed her, you bloody pirate!" Rita screamed. "None of this would've happened if you had stayed out of our lives! If you hadn't stolen her foolish heart! If she hadn't…!" She broke off in sobs, unable to stay composed any longer.

Hector watched her as the rain grew heavier, putting a veil between them. A troubled part of him believed every word she'd said. None of it made any difference.

"Well, then," He said roughly. "Here we are."

Rita looked up, shaking but willing to let her anger subside.

"Here we are," she agreed.

Back inside the house, Bettina had brought Carina downstairs. Hector and Rita emerged from the streets to dry off and face their reality. The baby was cooing again, calm and safe in her blankets. Hector's eyes were drawn to her, but each glance was like dripping saltwater in an already bleeding wound.

"The child?" Bettina asked solemnly when the two had shut the front door.

Rita looked at Hector.

"Margaret asked you to give her the best life," She said. "I know that's not with me." There was no way she could see the child having a bright future under her care; not only would the smuggling put her in danger, but Rita had no mothering instinct whatsoever. She was the least fitted for the job, though it wrecked her with guilt to admit it.

"Nor with me," conceded Hector. He sucked in a breath, and reached over to take Carina in his arms. "I'll bring her to the orphanage. I owe Margaret that."

"I'll go with you," Rita said at once in a tremulous voice.

"No," said Hector, looking down into tiny eyes that so resembled his own. "I'll take her myself. And then I'll leave. My crew will never know of her. She'll be safe." Every word was stiff and unfeeling, but Rita could see the pain past his brute cold stare.

Half an hour later, father and daughter were ready to go. Carina was sound asleep in her tightly packed bundle. Rita waited by the door, holding her while Hector finished packing his satchel. He saved putting on his hat for last. Rita stared at her friend's child, hoping somehow the tiny face could console her.

Only then did Rita realize the parting meant saying goodbye to the last piece of Margaret she had left. It ached as she kissed the small forehead and relinquished the bundle to Hector. It was for the best. It had to be. He placed the slumbering pile of blankets into a sturdy basket.

"Are…are you sure about this?" Rita asked before the pirate could open the door. "You don't have to give her up, you know. I know what I said, but now I wonder…maybe growing up at sea with her father is better than being an orphan."

The same thoughts had been running through Hector's own mind, thoughts he had to batter down with all the strength he could muster. As he looked down at the infant, he realized he couldn't bear to imagine something so pure in his damaged life. She would have better than that.

"Without me…she'll have a fighting chance at a decent life. I just want…"

"You want to protect her," Rita finished, studying the man's weathered face. Carina, she remembered, was not the only person she was saying goodbye to. "Look, I know I've never taken a shine to you. I wanted the best for Margaret and you were…"

"A swine?" Hector guessed with a smile.

"I was going to say 'less-than best'," Rita replied wryly. "But I misjudged you. She was right all along. There's good in you, just…try not to forget it."

The pirate nodded, unsure of what to say. He wasn't entirely sure he believed her, but for a moment his tattered soul felt somewhat at peace with the concept.

"It's been an honor to fight alongside ye, Miss May," He said, pulling open the door. "For treasure…and for Margaret."

Rita watched him trek down the stormy road, staring into the darkness even after he had drifted from sight. Tears fell silently and steadily.

Hector took his time getting to the orphanage, stopping every so often to pull back the blankets to look at Carina. How she could remain sleeping through the thunder he couldn't quite fathom, but perhaps she was already as stubborn and strong as her mother. The roads were empty, but he pulled his collar up high and kept a wary eye open for signs of movement. The building itself was by the sea, and he found himself hoping she would have a room with a view. Then he would know she'd grow to look up at the same waters he'd be sailing.

There was a single candlelight shining through one of the windows, despite the late hour. Hector placed the basket at the doorstep, but did not knock right away. He adjusted the sloppily scrawled note over the blankets: _Her mother died. Her name is Carina Smyth._

Then, he reached into his satchel and pulled out Galileo's diary. He and Margaret had poured over the pages together during those blissful months. While she'd slept, he'd written notes. While she ate, he would read to her from it. It had been part of his dream of a perfect life. Yet all his dreams had been shattered in that one night, and something told him it was not his destiny to discover what the stars had in store. No, perhaps that could befall the girl who was a star herself. He placed the book with the ruby intact beside her in the basket.

"May the stars guide ye," Hector whispered. "Better than I ever could. Stay safe. And remember your namesake, the star that will always lead you home. Carina. The brightest star in the north."

* * *

 **A/N** **Thanks for sticking through to the end, folks. I've really loved writing Margaret. One more chapter to wrap things up! Last line comes from _The Adventures of Carina Smyth_ series. **


	25. Epilogue-A New Day

**THE PRESENT**

They didn't realize they were the only ones left in the tavern until the candle blew out, waking them from memories that felt like pulsing dreams. Jack was quiet for longer than Rita had ever witnessed, covering his contemplation by attempting yet again to drink from his pint that had already been drained hours ago.

"Oi," he turned to the bar, shattering the silence in his conventionally uncivil way. "Can we get another round here?"

The barkeeper was nowhere to be seen. Rita suspected he'd retired to his room without them noticing, and promptly felt a wave of gratitude for not having been kicked out. She was dreading returning home.

"Lousy service here, eh?" Jack muttered awkwardly. He stood up, the sound of his wooden chair scraping the floor bringing Rita back to her senses. She looked out the dirty window behind her.

"It's nearly dawn," she noted.

"Just enough time for a final drink." Jack was already behind the counter, rummaging through bottles until he found what he wanted. He returned to the table with a murky mead and tipped its contents evenly into each of their cups.

Rita picked hers up but did not sip, just watched the liquid slosh around inside.

"What it's time for," she said. "Is you to tell me what you really want. Have you come seeking my permission to return to Circe's workshop? Loot the place for all it's worth?" She knew he had not journeyed all that way just to tell her about Hector and Carina.

"Permission? 'Course not. I came to take you with me."

Jack's crooked smile looked forced and out of place on his weathered face. Rita knew at once he was trying to hide desperation.

"The days of toiling with legends and magic are behind me," she said stiffly. "I'm afraid you're on your own with that."

"Rita, what's life without adventure?" Jack urged, leaning forward.

"Maybe, finally, a life of peace," Rita retorted. "We're not that young anymore, Jack. At a certain point, you have to know when to quit."

"Not me," he said softly, sounding like a wounded child.

Rita swallowed hard. The image of Margaret standing with the potion bottle in her hand, a look of terror strewn across her beautiful face, replayed over and over again in her mind.

"It's not what _she_ would've wanted."

"What would she have wanted, then?"

She had asked herself the same thing so many times over the years that the words fell flat when heard aloud. She became silent for a moment, meeting Jack's eyes. They looked lost, searching for something they might never find.

"I should have kept Carina." Rita's admission felt like the release of a sob she'd been holding in for a long time. "I could have raised her myself if I wasn't so damn selfish. I could have-"

"There's no point in regretting," Jack cut her off. "She's…alive. Strong. Healthy. In love."

Rita was taken aback.

"In love?"

"Aye. It happens sometimes, or so I hear," Jack smiled through his whisper. "Nice lad. I imagine her father wouldn't have approved."

They chuckled in unison, breathing a new mood into their bleak environment.

"Do you ever regret…" Rita began suddenly. "Do you ever regret not having all that? A family? Love?"

It clearly wasn't a question Jack was willing to think about.

"I don't…No. No, never," He decided firmly. "At best, those things would keep me tied down. At worst, they would bring pain. Hector and Margaret were a fine example of that."

"But they were happy."

The truth of that quelled Jack's criticism. He gave a small nod and placed his hand gently atop Rita's.

"And you, love? Do you regret it?"

She'd been ready for this. Smirking slightly, she slipped her hand out from under Jack's and rested it on his cheek.

"Regret is for the end of life. And we are still living," She murmured.

"Yet here you are, full of it." Jack raised an eyebrow, trying not to look surprised by her touch. Rita merely shrugged sadly. She realized they'd been speaking at barely a whisper despite the empty room. Glimmers of light were beginning to seep in, transforming the objects in the tavern from shadowed mysteries back into ordinary, unkempt entities.

"Thank you for the offer, Captain Sparrow," She dropped her hand and cast her gaze down to her cup. "But I'd like to let the past stay in the past."

Jack grinned ruefully.

"Was worth a try, anyway." He felt for his hat and plopped it on his head, emitting dark shadows down his already incomprehensible face. "I always do just fine all by me lonesome, so don't you worry about me."

"I rarely do," Rita lied, watching as he slowly rose from the table. "Though without Barbossa to save your skin this time, I fear what fate might befall you."

The corners of Jack's mouth twitched but he did not laugh.

"He was a good man," he said, sounding drunk while sober.

"No, he wasn't. None of us were," Rita amended. "He was a good pirate."

"Without Margaret keeping you in check, I predict you've been awfully reckless yourself."

"I get by."

They paused, staring not at each other, but off into space where they could pretend time had frozen for just a little bit longer. It felt like ages before the creaking of the floorboards under Jack's shifting weight lulled Rita back into reality. He cleared his throat and looked to the door.

"What's next for you?" Rita asked before he could make his exit.

"Same as always, I suppose. Collect me crew. Collect me fortune. Go until I can't go anymore," Jack sighed.

"Same old heedless Jack," she smiled up at him. "How you've managed to survive this long, I'll never know."

"I've got more brains than I look, love," He winked and put a hand on Rita's shoulder. It was tender, but she could feel his hesitation to leave tremble through the touch. "I best be off. Take care of yourself."

Rita shot him an overdramatic look of offense as she picked up her cup and held it out in front of him.

"Why, Jack," She exclaimed. "You haven't even finished your drink! Are you really going to let a lady consume her mead all alone?"

The pirate beamed and immediately slid back down into his seat, excitedly taking up his own beverage.

"To old friends, then," Jack raised his pint as high as his arm would reach. Rita mimicked his posture.

"To being alive to remember them."

"To being alive."

Their cups clattered together, and they gulped down the last few drops just as the new day set sail on the horizon.

 **FIN**

* * *

 **A/N: WELL, thanks for reading all the way to the end! Your feedback/support is always immensely appreciated, and I don't think I would've finished this without y'all. I'm gonna miss all these characters, but it's been quite the ride.**


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